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ALEXANDER    KIELLAND. 


THE   CONTINENTAL    CLASSICS 

VOLUME    XVII 

THE 

BATTLE    OF  WATERLOO 

AND    OTHER    STORIES 
ALEXANDER^KIELLAND 

TRANSLATED     FROM     THE     NORWEGIAN     BY 

WILLIAM    ARCHER 

WITH     AN     INTRODUCTION     BY 

H.     H.     BOY  ES  E  N 


HARPER   &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 


Copyright,  1891,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 


CONTENTS. 


TAOa 

Pharaoh 3 

The  Parsonage 15 

The  Peat  Moor 47 

"Hope's  Clad  in  April  Green"     ...  57 

At  the  Fair 71 

Two  Friends 83 

A  Good  Conscience 115 

Romance  and  Reality 135 

Withered  Leaves 157 

The  Battle  of  Waterloo 167 


INTRODUCTION. 

In  June,  1867,  about  a  hundred  enthusiastic 
youths  were  vociferously  celebrating  the  at- 
tainment of  the  baccalaureate  degree  at  the 
University  of  Norway.  The  orator  on  this 
occasion  was  a  tall,  handsome,  distinguished- 
looking  young  man  named  Alexander  Kiel- 
land,  from  the  little  coast-town  of  Stavanger. 
There  was  none  of  the  crudity  of  a  provincial 
either  in  his  manners  or  his  appearance.  He 
spoke  with  a  quiet  self-possession  and  a  pithy 
incisiveness  which  were  altogether  phenomenal. 

"That  young  man  will  be  heard  from  one 
of  these  days,"  was  the  unanimous  verdict  of 
those  who  listened  to  his  clear-cut  and  finish- 
ed sentences,  and  noted  the  maturity  of  his 
opinions. 

But  ten  years  passed,  and  outside  of  Sta- 
vanger no  one  ever  heard  of  Alexander  Kiel- 
land.  His  friends  were  aware  that  he  had 
studied  law,  spent  some  winters  in  France, 
married,  and  settled  himself  as  a  dignitary  in 


VUl  INTJRODUCTION. 

his  native  town.  It  was  understood  that  he 
had  bought  a  large  brick  and  tile  factory,  and 
that,  as  a  manufacturer  of  these  useful  articles, 
he  bid  fair  to  become  a  provincial  magnate,  as 
his  fathers  had  been  before  him.  People  had 
almost  forgotten  that  great  things  had  been 
expected  of  him ;  and  some  fancied,  perhaps, 
that  he  had  been  spoiled  by  prosperity.  Re- 
membering him,  as  I  did,  as  the  most  brilliant 
and  notable  personality  among  my  university 
friends,  I  began  to  apply  to  him  Malloch's  epi- 
grammatic damnation  of  the  man  of  whom  it 
was  said  at  twenty  that  he  would  do  great 
things,  at  thirty  that  he  might  do  great  things, 
and  at  forty  that  he  might  have  done  great 
things. 

This  was  the  frame  of  mind  of  those  who 
remembered  Alexander  Kielland  (and  he  was 
an  extremely  difficult  man  to  forget),  when  in 
the  year  1879  ^  modest  volume  of  "  novel- 
ettes" appeared,  bearing  his  name.  It  was, 
to  all  appearances,  a  light  performance,  but  it 
revealed  a  sense  of  style  which  made  it,  never- 
theless, notable.  No  man  had  ever  written 
the  Norwegian  language  as  this  man  wrote  it. 
There  was  a  lightness  of  touch,  a  perspicacity, 
an  epigrammatic  sparkle  and  occasional  flashes 
of  wit,  which  seemed  altogether  un-Norwegian. 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

It  was  obvious  that  this  author  was  familiar 
with  the  best  French  writers,  and  had  acquired 
through  them  that  clear  and  crisp  incisiveness 
of  utterance  which  was  supposed,  hitherto,  to 
be  untransferable  to  any  other  tongue. 

As  regards  the  themes  of  these  "  novelettes  " 
(from  which  the  present  collection  is  chiefly 
made  up),  it  was  remarked  at  the  time  of 
their  first  appearance  that  they  hinted  at  a 
more  serious  purpose  than  their  style  seemed 
to  imply.  Who  can  read,  for  instance,  "  Pha- 
raoh" (which  in  the  original  is  entitled  "A 
Ball  Mood ")  without  detecting  the  revolu- 
tionary note  which  trembles  quite  audibly 
through  the  calm  and  unimpassioned  lan- 
guage? There  is,  by-the-way,  a  little  touch 
of  melodrama  in  this  tale  which  is  very  un- 
usual with  Kielland.  "  Romance  and  Real- 
ity," too,  is  glaringly  at  variance  with  the 
conventional  romanticism  in  its  satirical  con- 
trasting of  the  pre-matrimonial  and  the  post- 
matrimonial  view  of  love  and  marriage.  The 
same  persistent  tendency  to  present  the  wrong 
side  as  well  as  the  right  side — ^and  not,  as  lit- 
erary good-manners  are  supposed  to  prescribe, 
ignore  the  former — is  obvious  in  the  charm- 
ing tale  "At  the  Fair,"  where  a  little  spice 
of  wholesome  truth  spoils  the  thoughtlessly 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

festive  mood ;  and  the  squalor,  the  want,  the 
envy,  hate,  and  greed  which  prudence  and  a 
regard  for  business  compel  the  performers 
to  disguise  to  the  public,  become  the  more 
cruelly  visible  to  the  visitors  of  the  little  alley- 
way at  the  rear  of  the  tents.  In  "A  Good 
Conscience  "  the  satirical  note  has  a  still  more 
serious  ring;  but  the  same  admirable  self-re- 
straint which,  next  to  the  power  of  thought 
and  expression,  is  the  happiest  gift  an  au- 
thor's fairy  godmother  can  bestow  upon  him, 
saves  Kielland  from  saying  too  much — from 
enforcing  his  lesson  by  marginal  comments,  A 
la  George  Eliot.  But  he  must  be  obtuse, 
indeed,  to  whom  this  reticence  is  not  more 
eloquent  and  effective  than  a  page  of  philo- 
sophical moralizing. 

"  Hope's  Clad  in  April  Green  "  and  "  The 
Battle  of  Waterloo"  (the  first  and  the  last  tale 
in  the  Norwegian  edition),  are  more  untinged 
with  a  moral  tendency  than  any  of  the  forego- 
ing. The  former  is  a  mere^Vw  (T esprit,  full  of 
good-natured  satire  on  the  calf-love  of  very 
young  people,  and  the  amusing  over-estimate 
of  our  importance  to  which  we  are  all,  at  that 
age,  peculiarly  liable. 

As  an  organist  with  vaguely-melodious  hints 
foreshadows  in  his  prelude  the  musical  motifs 


INTRODUCTION.  XI 

which  he  means  to  vary  and  elaborate  in  his 
fugue,  so  Kielland  lightly  touched  in  these 
"  novelettes "  the  themes  which  in  his  later 
works  he  has  struck  with  a  fuller  volume  and 
power.  What  he  gave  in  this  little  book  was 
a  light  sketch  of  his  mental  physiognomy,  from 
which,  perhaps,  his  horoscope  might  be  cast 
and  his  literary  future  predicted. 

Though  an  aristocrat  by  birth  and  training, 
he  revealed  a  strong  sympathy  with  the  toil- 
ing masses.  But  it  was  a  democracy  of  the 
brain,  I  should  fancy,  rather  than  of  the  heart. 
As  I  read  the  book,  twelve  years  ago,  its  ten- 
dency puzzled  me  considerably,  remembering, 
as  I  did,  with  the  greatest  vividness,  the  fastid- 
ious and  elegant  personality  of  the  author.  I 
found  it  difficult  to  believe  that  he  was  in  ear- 
nest. The  book  seemed  to  me  to  betray  the 
whimsical  sans-culottism  of  a  man  of  pleasure 
who,  when  the  ball  is  at  an  end,  sits  down  with 
his  gloves  on  and  philosophizes  on  the  arti- 
ficiality of  civilization  and  the  wholesomeness 
of  honest  toil.  An  indigestion  makes  him  a 
temporary  communist ;  but  a  bottle  of  seltzer 
presently  reconciles  him  to  his  lot,  and  restores 
the  equilibrium  of  the  universe.  He  loves  the 
people  at  a  distance,  can  talk  prettily  about 
the  sturdy  son  of  the  soil,  who  is  the  core  and 


Xll  INTRODUCTION. 

marrow  of  the  nation,  etc. ;  but  he  avoids  con- 
tact with  him,  and,  if  chance  brings  them  into 
contact,  he  loves  him  with  his  handkerchief  to 
his  nose. 

I  may  be  pardoned  for  having  identified  Al- 
exander Kielland  with  this  type  with  which  I 
am  very  familiar ;  and  he  convinced  me,  pres- 
ently, that  I  had  done  him  injustice.  In  his 
next  book,  the  admirable  novel  Garman  and 
Worse,  he  showed  that  his  democratic  procliv- 
ities were  something  more  than  a  mood.  He 
showed  that  he  took  himself  seriously,  and  he 
compelled  the  public  to  take  him  seriously. 
The  tendency  which  had  only  flashed  forth 
here  and  there  in  the  "  novelettes "  now  re- 
vealed its  whole  countenance.  The  author's 
theme  was  the  life  of  the  prosperous  bour- 
geoisie in  the  western  coast-towns ;  he  drew 
their  types  with  a  hand  that  gave  evidence  of 
intimate  knowledge.  He  had  himself  sprung 
from  one  of  these  rich  ship-owning,  patrician 
families,  had  been  given  every  opportunity  to 
study  life  both  at  home  and  abroad,  and  had 
accumulated  a  fund  of  knowledge  of  the  world, 
which  he  had  allowed  quietly  to  grow  before 
making  literary  drafts  upon  it.  The  same 
Gallic  perspicacity  of  style  which  had  charmed 
in  his  first  book  was  here  in  a  heightened  de- 


INTRODUCTION.  XIU 

gree ;  and  there  was,  besides,  the  same  under- 
lying sympathy  with  progress  and  what  is 
called  the  ideas  of  the  age.  What  mastery 
of  description,  what  rich  and  vigorous  colors 
Kielland  had  at  his  disposal  was  demonstrated 
in  such  scenes  as  the  funeral  of  Consul  Gar- 
man  and  the  burning  of  the  ship.  There 
was,  moreover,  a  delightful  autobiographical 
note  in  the  book,  particularly  in  boyish  ex- 
periences of  Gabriel  Garman.  Such  things 
no  man  invents,  however  clever ;  such  material 
no  imagination  supplies,  however  fertile.  Ex- 
cept Fritz  Reuter's  Stavenhagen,  I  know  no 
small  town  in  fiction  which  is  so  vividly  and 
completely  individualized,  and  populated  with 
such  living  and  credible  characters.  Take, 
for  instance,  the  two  clergymen,  Archdeacon 
Sparre  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Martens,  and  it  is  not 
necessary  to  have  lived  in  Norway  in  order  to 
recognize  and  enjoy  the  faithfulness  and  the 
artistic  subtlety  of  these  portraits.  If  they 
have  a  dash  of  satire  (which  I  will  not  under- 
take to  deny),  it  is  such  delicate  and  well-bred 
satire  that  no  one,  except  the  originals,  would 
think  of  taking  offence.  People  are  willing, 
for  the  sake  of  the  entertainment  which  it 
affords,  to  forgive  a  little  quiet  malice  at 
their  neighbors'  expense.      The   members  of 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

the  provincial  bureaucracy  are  drawn  with  the 
same  firm  but  delicate  touch,  and  everything 
has  that  beautiful  air  of  reality  which  proves 
the  world  akin. 

It  was  by  no  means  a  departure  from  his 
previous  style  and  tendency  which  Kielland 
signalized  in  his  next  novel,  Laboring  People 
(1881).  He  only  emphasizes,  as  it  were,  the 
heavy,  serious  bass  chords  in  the  composite 
theme  which  expresses  his  complex  personal- 
ity, and  allows  the  lighter  treble  notes  to  be 
momentarily  drowned.  Superficially  speak- 
ing, there  is  perhaps  a  reminiscence  of  Zola  in 
this  book,  not  in  the  manner  of  treatment,  but 
in  the  subject,  which  is  the  corrupting  influ- 
ence of  the  higher  classes  upon  the  lower. 
There  is  no  denying  that  in  spite  of  the  abil- 
ity, which  it  betrays  in  every  line.  Laboring 
People  is  unpleasant  reading.  It  frightened 
away  a  host  of  the  author's  early  admirers  by 
the  uncompromising  vigor  and  the  glaring  real- 
ism with  which  it  depicted  the  consequences  of 
vicious  indulgence.  It  showed  no  considera- 
tion for  delicate  nerves,  but  was  for  all  that  a 
clean  and  wholesome  book. 

Kielland's  third  novel.  Skipper  Worse,  marked 
a  distinct  step  in  his  development.  It  was  less 
of  a  social  satire  and  more  of  a  social  study. 


INTRODUCTION.  XV 

It  was  not  merely  a  series  of  brilliant,  exqui- 
sitely-finished scenes,  loosely  strung  together 
on  a  slender  thread  of  narrative,  but  it  was  a 
concise  and  well-constructed  story,  full  of  beau- 
tiful scenes  and  admirable  portraits.  The 
theme  is  akin  to  that  of  Daudet's  LEvangi- 
liste  ;  but  Kielland,  as  it  appears  to  me,  has  in 
this  instance  outdone  his  French  confrere  as 
regards  insight  into  the  peculiar  character  and 
poetry  of  the  pietistic  movement.  He  has 
dealt  with  it  as  a  psychological  and  not  pri- 
marily as  a  pathological  phenomenon.  A  com- 
parison with  Daudet  suggests  itself  constantly 
in  reading  Kielland.  Their  methods  of  work- 
manship and  their  attitude  towards  life  have 
many  points  in  common.  The  charm  of  style, 
the  delicacy  of  touch  and  felicity  of  phrase,  is  in 
both  cases  pre-eminent.  Daudet  has,  however, 
the  advantage  (or,  as  he  himself  asserts,  the  dis- 
advantage) of  working  in  a  flexible  and  highly- 
finished  language,  which  bears  the  impress  of 
the  labors  of  a  hundred  masters ;  while  Kielland 
has  to  produce  his  effects  of  style  in  a  poorer  and 
less  pliable  language,  which  often  pants  and 
groans  in  its  efforts  to  render  a  subtle  thought. 
To  have  polished  this  tongue  and  sharpened 
its  capacity  for  refined  and  incisive  utterance 
is  one — and  not  the  least — of  his  merits. 


XVI  INTRODUCTION. 

Though  he  has  by  nature  no  more  sympa- 
thy with  the  pietistic  movement  than  Dau- 
det,  Kielland  yet  manages  to  get,  psychologi- 
cally, closer  to  his  problem.  His  pietists  are 
more  humanly  interesting  than  those  of  Dau- 
det,  and  the  little  drama  which  they  set  in 
motion  is  more  genuinely  pathetic.  Two  su- 
perb figures — the  lay  preacher,  Hans  Nilsen, 
and  Skipper  Worse — surpass  all  that  the  au- 
thor had  hitherto  produced,  in  depth  of  con- 
ception and  brilliancy  of  execution.  The  mar- 
riage of  that  delightful,  profane  old  sea-dog 
Jacob  Worse,  with  the  pious  Sara  Torvested, 
and  the  attempts  of  his  mother-in-law  to  con- 
vert him,  are  described,  not  with  the  merely 
superficial  drollery  to  which  the  subject  in- 
vites, but  with  a  sweet  and  delicate  humor, 
which  trembles  on  the  verge  of  pathos. 

The  beautiful  story  Elsie,  which,  though 
published  separately,  is  scarcely  a  full-grown 
novel,  is  intended  to  impress  society  with  a 
sense  of  responsibility  for  its  outcasts.  While 
Bjornstjerne  Bjornson  is  fond  of  emphasizing 
the  responsibility  of  the  individual  to  society, 
Kielland  chooses  by  preference  to  reverse  the 
relation.  The  former  (in  his  remarkable  novel 
Flags  are  Flying  in  City  and  Harbor)  selects  a 
hero   with    vicious   inherited    tendencies,  re- 


INTRODUCTION.  XVU 

deemed  by  wise  education  and  favorable  en- 
vironment ;  the  latter  portrays  in  Elsie  a  hero- 
ine with  no  corrupt  predisposition,  destroyed 
by  the  corrupting  environment  which  society 
forces  upon  those  who  are  born  in  her  cir- 
cumstances. Elsie  could  not  be  good,  because 
the  world  is  so  constituted  that  girls  of  her 
kind  are  not  expected  to  be  good.  Tempta- 
tions, perpetually  thronging  in  her  way,  break 
down  the  moral  bulwarks  of  her  nature.  Re- 
sistance seems  in  vain.  In  the  end  there  is 
scarcely  one  who,  having  read  her  story,  will 
have  the  heart  to  condemn  her. 

Incomparably  clever  is  the  satire  on  the  be- 
nevolent societies,  which  appear  to  exist  as  a 
sort  of  moral  poultice  to  tender  consciences, 
and  to  furnish  an  officious  sense  of  virtue  to 
its  prosperous  members.  "  The  Society  for 
the  Redemption  of  the  Abandoned  Women 
of  St.  Peter's  Parish  "  is  presided  over  by  a 
gentleman  who  privately  furnishes  subjects 
for  his  public  benevolence.  However,  as  his 
private  activity  is  not  bounded  by  the  pre- 
cincts of  St.  Peter's  Parish,  within  which  the 
society  confines  its  remedial  labors,  the  miser- 
able creatures  who  might  need  its  aid  are  sent 
away  uncomforted.  The  delicious  joke  of  the 
thing  is  that  "  St.  Peter's"  is  a  rich  and  exclu- 


XVlll  INTRODUCTION. 

sive  parish,  consisting  of  what  is  called  "  the 
better  classes,"  and  has  no  **  abandoned  wom- 
en." Whatever  wickedness  there  may  be  in 
St.  Peter's  is  discreetly  veiled,  and  makes  no 
claim  upon  public  charity.  The  virtuous  hor- 
ror of  the  secretary  when  she  hears  that  the 
"  abandoned  woman "  who  calls  upon  her  for 
aid  has  a  child,  though  she  is  unmarried,  is 
both  comic  and  pathetic.  It  is  the  clean,  "  de- 
serving poor,"  who  understand  the  art  of  hyp- 
ocritical humility — it  is  these  whom  the  socie- 
ty seeks  in  vain  in  St.  Peter's  Parish. 

Still  another  problem  of  the  most  vital  con- 
sequence Kielland  has  attacked  in  his  two 
novels.  Poison  and  Fortuna  (1884).  It  is,  broad- 
ly stated,  the  problem  of  education.  The 
hero  in  both  books  is  Abraham  Lovdahl,  a 
well- endowed,  healthy,  and  altogether  prom- 
ising boy  who,  by  the  approved  modern  edu- 
cational process,  is  mentally  and  morally  crip- 
pled, and  the  germs  of  what  is  great  and  good 
in  him  are  systematically  smothered  by  that 
disrespect  for  individuality  and  insistence  upon 
uniformity,  which  are  the  curses  of  a  small  so- 
ciety. The  revolutionary  discontent  which 
vibrates  in  the  deepest  depth  of  Kielland's  nat- 
ure; the  profound  and  uncompromising  radi- 
calism  which   smoulders   under   his  polished 


INTRODUCTION.  XIX 

exterior;  the  philosophical  pessimism  which 
relentlessly  condemns  all  the  flimsy  and  super- 
ficial reformatory  movements  of  the  day,  have 
found  expression  in  the  history  of  the  child- 
hood, youth,  and  manhood  of  Abraham  Lov- 
dahl.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  worthy  of  note 
that  to  Kielland  the  knowledge  which  is  of- 
fered in  the  guise  of  intellectual  nourishment 
is  poison.  It  is  the  dry  and  dusty  accumula- 
tion of  antiquarian  lore,  which  has  little  or  no 
application  to  modern  life — it  is  this  which  the 
young  man  of  the  higher  classes  is  required  to 
assimilate.  Apropos  of  this,  let  me  quote  Dr. 
G.  Brandes,  who  has  summed  up  the  tendency 
of  these  two  novels  with  great  felicity: 

"  The  author  has  surveyed  the  generation 
to  which  he  himself  belongs,  and  after  having 
scanned  these  wide  domains  of  emasculation, 
these  prairies  of  spiritual  sterility,  these  vast 
plains  of  servility  and  irresolution,  he  has  ad- 
dressed to  himself  the  questions  :  How  does  a 
whole  generation  become  such?  How  was  it 
possible  to  nip  in  the  bud  all  that  was  fertile 
and  eminent  ?  And  he  has  painted  a  picture 
of  the  history  of  the  development  of  the  pres- 
ent generation  in  the  home-life  and  school-life 
of  Abraham  Lovdahl,  in  order  to  show  from 
what  kind  of  parentage  those  most  fortunately 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

situated  and  best  endowed  have  sprung,  and 
what  kind  of  education  they  received  at  home 
and  in  the  school.  This  is,  indeed,  a  simple 
and  an  excellent  theme. 

"  We  first  see  the  child  led  about  upon  the 
wide  and  withered  common  of  knowledge,  with 
the  same  sort  of  meagre  fodder  for  all ;  we  see 
it  trained  in  mechanical  memorizing,  in  bar- 
ren knowledge  concerning  things  and  forms 
that  are  dead  and  gone ;  in  ignorance  con- 
cerning the  life  that  is,  in  contempt  for  it, 
and  in  the  consciousness  of  its  privileged  po- 
sition, by  dint  of  its  possession  of  this  doubt- 
ful culture.  We  see  pride  strengthened ;  the 
healthy  curiosity,  the  desire  to  ask  questions, 
killed." 

We  are  apt  to  console  ourselves  on  this  side 
of  the  ocean  with  the  idea  that  these  social 
problems  appertain  only  to  the  effete  monar- 
chies of  Europe,  and  have  no  application  with 
us.  But,  though  I  readily  admit  that  the  keen- 
est point  of  this  satire  is  directed  against  the 
small  States  which,  by  the  tyranny  of  the 
dominant  mediocrity,  cripple  much  that  is 
good  and  great  by  denying  it  the  conditions 
of  growth  and  development,  there  is  yet  a 
deep  and  abiding  lesson  in  these  two  novels 
which  applies  to  modern  civilization  in  gen- 


INTRODUCTION.  XXI 

eral,  exposing  glaring  defects  which   are   no 
less  prevalent  here  than  in  the  Old  World. 

Besides  being  the  author  of  some  minor 
comedies  and  a  full-grown  drama  ("  The  Pro- 
fessor"), Kielland  has  published  two  more  nov- 
els, St.  Johns  Eve  (1887)  «^nd  Snow.  The  latter 
is  particularly  directed  against  the  orthodox 
Lutheran  clergy,  of  which  the  Rev.  Daniel 
Jiirges  is  an  excellent  specimen.  He  is,  in 
my  opinion,  not  in  the  least  caricatured ;  but 
portrayed  with  a  conscientious  desire  to  do 
justice  to  his  sincerity.  Mr.  Jiirges  is  a 
worthy  type  of  the  Norwegian  country  pope, 
proud  and  secure  in  the  feeling  of  his  divine 
authority,  passionately  hostile  to  "the  age," 
because  he  believes  it  to  be  hostile  to  Christ ; 
intolerant  of  dissent ;  a  guide  and  ruler  of 
men,  a  shepherd  of  the  people.  The  only 
trouble  in  Norway,  as  elsewhere,  is  that  the 
people  will  no  longer  consent  to  be  shepherd- 
ed. They  refuse  to  be  guided  and  ruled. 
They  rebel  against  spiritual  and  secular  au- 
thority, and  follow  no  longer  the  bell-wether 
with  the  timid  gregariousness  of  servility  and 
irresolution.  To  bring  the  new  age  into  the 
parsonage  of  the  reverend  obscurantist  in  the 
shape  of  a  young  girl — the  fiancie  of  the  pas- 
tor's son — was  an  interesting  experiment  which 


XXll  INTRODUCTION. 

gives  occasion  for  strong  scenes  and,  at  last, 
for  a  drawn  battle  between  the  old  and  the 
new.  The  new,  though  not  acknowledging  it- 
self to  be  beaten,  takes  to  its  heels,  and  flees 
in  the  stormy  night  through  wind  and  snow. 
But  the  snow  is  moist  and  heavy ;  it  is  begin- 
ning to  thaw.  There  is  a  vague  presentiment 
of  spring  in  the  air. 

This  note  of  promise  and  suspense  with 
which  the  book  ends  is  meant  to  be  symbolic. 
From  Kielland's  point  of  view,  Norway  is  yet 
wrapped  in  the  wintry  winding-sheet  of  a 
tyrannical  orthodoxy ;  and  all  that  he  dares 
assert  is  that  the  chains  of  frost  and  snow 
seem  to  be  loosening.  There  is  a  spring  feel- 
ing in  the  air. 

This  spring  feeling  is,  however,  scarcely  per- 
ceptible in  his  last  book,  Jacob,  which  is  writ- 
ten in  anything  but  a  hopeful  mood.  It  is, 
rather,  a  protest  against  that  optimism  which 
in  fiction  we  call  poetic  justice.  The  harsh 
and  unsentimental  logic  of  reality  is  empha- 
sized with  a  ruthless  disregard  of  rose-colored 
traditions.  The  peasant  lad  Wold,  who,  like 
all  Norse  peasants,  has  been  brought  up  on 
the  Bible,  has  become  deeply  impressed  with 
the  story  of  Jacob,  and  God's  persistent  par- 
tisanship for  him,  in  spite  of  his  dishonesty 


INTRODUCTION.  XXIU 

and  tricky  behavior.  The  story  becomes,  half 
unconsciously,  the  basis  of  his  philosophy  of 
life,  and  he  undertakes  to  model  his  career  on 
that  of  the  Biblical  hero.  He  accordingly 
cheats  and  steals  with  a  clever  moderation, 
and  in  a  cautious  and  circumspect  manner 
which  defies  detection.  Step  by  step  he  rises 
in  the  regard  of  his  fellow -citizens;  crushes, 
with  long-headed  calculation  or  with  brutal 
promptness  (as  it  may  suit  his  purpose)  all 
those  who  stand  in  his  way,  and  arrives  at  last 
at  the  goal  of  his  desires.  He  becomes  a  lo- 
cal magnate,  a  member  of  parliament,  where 
he  poses  as  a  defender  of  the  simple,  old-fash- 
ioned orthodoxy,  is  decorated  by  the  King, 
and  is  an  object  of  the  envious  admiration  of 
his  fellow-townsmen. 

From  the  pedagogic  point  of  view,  I  have 
no  doubt  that  Jacob  would  be  classed  as  an 
immoral  book.  But  the  question  of  its  moral- 
ity is  of  less  consequence  than  the  question  as 
to  its  truth.  The  most  modern  literature,  which 
is  interpenetrated  with  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
has  a  way  of  asking  dangerous  questions — 
questions  before  which  the  reader,  when  he 
perceives  their  full  scope,  stands  aghast.  Our 
old  idyllic  faith  in  the  goodness  and  wisdom  of 
all  mundane  arrangements  has  undoubtedly  re- 


XXIV  INTRODUCTION. 

ceived  a  shock  from  which  it  will  never  recov- 
er. Our  attitude  towards  the  universe  is  chang- 
ing with  the  change  of  its  attitude  towards  us. 
What  the  thinking  part  of  humanity  is  now 
largely  engaged  in  doing  is  to  readjust  itself 
towards  the  world  and  the  world  towards  it. 
Success  is  but  a  complete  adaptation  to  envi- 
ronment ;  and  success  is  the  supreme  aim  of 
the  modern  man.  The  authors  who,  by  their 
fearless  thinking  and  speaking,  help  us  towards 
this  readjustment  should,  in  my  opinion, 
whether  we  choose  to  accept  their  conclusions 
or  not,  be  hailed  as  benefactors.  It  is  in  the 
ranks  of  these  that  Alexander  Kielland  has 
taken  his  place,  and  now  occupies  a  conspicu- 
ous position. 

HJALMAR  HJORTH  BOYESEN. 

New  York,  May  15,  1891. 


PHARAOH. 


PHARAOH. 

She  had  mounted  the  shining  marble  steps  with- 
out mishap,  without  labor,  sustained  by  her  great 
beauty  and  her  fine  nature  alone.  She  had  taken 
her  place  in  the  salons  of  the  rich  and  great  with- 
out paying  for  her  admittance  with  her  honor  or 
her  good  name.  Yet  no  one  could  say  whence  she 
came,  though  people  whispered  that  it  was  from 
the  depths. 

As  a  waif  of  a  Parisian  faubourg,  she  had  starved 
through  her  childhood  among  surroundings  of  vice 
and  poverty,  such  as  those  only  can  conceive  who 
know  them  by  experience.  Those  of  us  who  get 
our  knowledge  from  books  and  from  hearsay  have 
to  strain  our  imagination  in  order  to  form  an  idea 
of  the  hereditary  misery  of  a  great  city,  and  yet  our 
most  terrible  imaginings  are  apt  to  pale  before  the 
reality. 

It  had  been  only  a  question  of  time  when  vice 
should  get  its  clutches  upon  her,  as  a  cog-wheel 
seizes  whoever  comes  too  near  the  machine.  After 
whirling  her  around  through  a  short  life  of  shame 
and  degradation,  it  would,  with  mechanical  punctu- 


4  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

ality,  have  cast  her  off  into  some  corner,  there  to 
drag  out  to  the  end,  in  sordid  obscurity,  her  carica- 
ture of  an  existence. 

But  it  happened,  as  it  does  sometimes  happen, 
that  she  was  "  discovered  "  by  a  man  of  wealth  and 
position,  one  day  when,  a  child  of  fourteen,  she 
happened  to  cross  one  of  the  better  streets.  She 
was  on  her  way  to  a  dark  back  room  in  the  Rue 
des  Quatre  Vents,  where  she  worked  with  a  woman 
who  made  artificial  flowers. 

It  was  not  only  her  extraordinary  beauty  that  at- 
tracted her  patron  ;  her  movements,  her  whole  bear- 
ing, and  the  expression  of  her  half-formed  features, 
all  seemed  to  him  to  show  that  here  was  an  origi- 
nally fine  nature  struggling  against  incipient  cor- 
ruption. Moved  by  one  of  the  incalculable  whims 
of  the  very  wealthy,  he  determined  to  try  to  rescue 
the  unhappy  child. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  obtain  control  of  her,  as 
she  belonged  to  no  one.  He  gave  her  a  name,  and 
placed  her  in  one  of  the  best  convent  schools.  Be- 
fore long  her  benefactor  had  the  satisfaction  of  ob- 
serving that  the  seeds  of  evil  died  away  and  disap- 
peared. She  developed  an  amiable,  rather  indolent 
character,  correct  and  quiet  manners,  and  a  rare 
beauty. 

When  she  grew  up  he  married  her.  Their  mar- 
ried life  was  peaceful  and  pleasant ;  in  spite  of  the 
great  difference  in  their  ages,  he  had  unbounded 
confidence  in  her,  and  she  deserved  it. 


PHARAOH.  5 

Married  people  do  not  live  in  such  close  commu- 
nion in  France  as  they  do  with  us ;  so  that  their 
claims  upon  each  other  are  not  so  great,  and  their 
disappointments  are  less  bitter. 

She  was  not  happy,  but  contented.  Her  charac- 
ter lent  itself  to  gratitude.  She  did  not  feel  the 
tedium  of  wealth ;  on  the  contrary,  she  often  took 
an  almost  childish  pleasure  in  it.  But  no  one 
could  guess  that,  for  her  bearing  was  always  full 
of  dignity  and  repose.  People  suspected  that  there 
was  something  questionable  about  her  origin,  but 
as  no  one  could  answer  questions  they  left  off  ask- 
ing them.  One  has  so  much  else  to  think  of  in 
Paris. 

She  had  forgotten  her  past.  She  had  forgotten 
it  just  as  we  have  forgotten  the  roses,  the  ribbons, 
and  faded  letters  of  our  youth — because  we  never 
think  about  them.  They  lie  locked  up  in  a  drawer 
which  we  never  open.  And  yet,  if  we  happen  now 
and  again  to  cast  a  glance  into  this  secret  drawer, 
we  at  once  notice  if  a  single  one  of  the  roses, 
or  the  least  bit  of  ribbon,  is  wanting.  For  we 
remember  them  all  to  a  nicety;  the  memories 
are  as  fresh  as  ever — as  sweet  as  ever,  and  as 
bitter. 

It  was  thus  she  had  forgotten  her  past — locked 
it  up  and  thrown  away  the  key. 

But  at  night  she  sometimes  dreamed  frightful 
things.  She  could  once  more  feel  the  old  witch 
with  whom  she  lived  shaking  her  by  the  shoulder, 


6  TALES   OF    TWO    COUNTRIES. 

and  driving  her  out  in  the  cold  mornings  to  work 
at  her  artificial  flowers. 

Then  she  would  jump  up  in  her  bed,  and  stare 
out  into  the  darkness  in  the  most  deadly  fear.  But 
presently  she  would  touch  the  silk  coverlet  and  the 
soft  pillows ;  her  fingers  would  follow  the  rich  carv- 
ings of  her  luxurious  bed ;  and  while  sleepy  little 
child -angels  slowly  drew  aside  the  heavy  dream- 
curtain,  she  tasted  in  deep  draughts  the  peculiar, 
indescribable  well-being  we  feel  when  we  discover 
that  an  evil  and  horrible  dream  was  a  dream  and 
nothing  more. 

Leaning  back  among  the  soft  cushions,  she  drove 
to  the  great  ball  at  the  Russian  ambassador's.  The 
nearer  they  got  to  their  destination  the  slower  be- 
came the  pace,  until  the  carriage  reached  the  regu- 
lar queue,  where  it  dragged  on  at  a  foot-pace. 

In  the  wide  square  in  front  of  the  hotel,  brilliant- 
ly lighted  with  torches  and  with  gas,  a  great  crowd 
of  people  had  gathered.  Not  only  passers-by  who 
had  stopped  to  look  on,  but  more  especially  work- 
men, loafers,  poor  women,  and  ladies  of  question- 
able appearance,  stood  in  serried  ranks  on  both 
sides  of  the  row  of  carriages.  Humorous  remarks 
and  coarse  witticisms  in  the  vulgarest  Parisian  dia- 
lect hailed  down  upon  the  passing  carriages  and 
their  occupants. 

She  heard  words  which  she  had  not  heard  for 
many  years,  and  she  blushed  at  the  thought  that 


PHARAOH.  7 

she  was  perhaps  the  only  one  in  this  whole  long 
line  of  carriages  who  understood  these  low  expres- 
sions of  the  dregs  of  Paris. 

She  began  to  look  at  the  faces  around  her :  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  knew  them  all.  She  knew 
what  they  thought,  what  was  passing  in  each  of 
these  tightly- packed  heads;  and  little  by  little  a 
host  of  memories  streamed  in  upon  her.  She  fought 
against  them  as  well  as  she  could,  but  she  was  not 
herself  this  evening. 

She  had  not,  then,  lost  the  key  to  the  secret 
drawer ;  reluctantly  she  drew  it  out,  and  the  mem- 
ories overpowered  her. 

She  remembered  how  often  she  herself,  still  al- 
most a  child,  had  devoured  with  greedy  eyes  the 
fine  ladies  who  drove  in  splendor  to  balls  or  thea- 
tres ;  how  often  she  had  cried  in  bitter  envy  over 
the  flowers  she  laboriously  pieced  together  to 
make  others  beautiful.  Here  she  saw  the  same 
greedy  eyes,  the  same  inextinguishable,  savage 
envy. 

And  the  dark,  earnest  men  who  scanned  the 
equipages  with  half-contemptuous,  half-threatening 
looks — she  knew  them  all. 

Had  not  she  herself,  as  a  little  girl,  lain  in  a  cor- 
ner and  listened,  wide-eyed,  to  their  talk  about  the 
injustice  of  life,  the  tyranny  of  the  rich,  and  the 
rights  of  the  laborer,  which  he  had  only  to  reach 
out  his  hand  to  seize  ? 

She  knew  that  they  hated  everything — the  sleek 


8  TALES  OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

horses,  the  dignified  coachmen,  the  shining  car- 
riages, and,  most  of  all,  the  people  who  sat  within 
them — these  insatiable  vampires,  these  ladies,  whose 
ornaments  for  the  night  cost  more  gold  than  any 
one  of  them  could  earn  by  the  work  of  a  whole 
lifetime. 

And  as  she  looked  along  the  line  of  carriages, 
as  it  dragged  on  slowly  through  the  crowd,  another 
memory  flashed  into  her  mind  —  a  half  -  forgotten 
picture  from  her  school-life  in  the  convent. 

She  suddenly  came  to  think  of  the  story  of  Pha- 
raoh and  his  war-chariots  following  the  children  of 
Israel  through  the  Red  Sea.  She  saw  the  waves, 
which  she  had  always  imagined  red  as  blood,  piled 
up  like  a  wall  on  both  sides  of  the  Egyptians. 

Then  the  voice  of  Moses  sounded.  He  stretch- 
ed out  his  staff  over  the  waters,  and  the  Red  Sea 
waves  hurtled  together  and  swallowed  up  Pharaoh 
and  all  his  chariots. 

She  knew  that  the  wall  which  stood  on  each  side 
of  her  was  wilder  and  more  rapacious  than  the 
waves  of  the  sea;  she  knew  that  it  needed  only  a 
voice,  a  Moses,  to  set  all  this  human  sea  in  motion, 
hurling  it  irresistibly  onward  until  it  should  sweep 
away  all  the  glory  of  wealth  and  greatness  in  its 
blood-red  waves. 

Her  heart  throbbed,  and  she  crouched  trembling 
into  the  corner  of  the  carriage.  But  it  was  not  with 
fear ;  it  was  so  that  those  without  should  not  see 
her — for  she  was  ashamed  to  meet  their  eyes. 


PHARAOH.  9 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  her  good-fortune  ap- 
peared to  her  in  the  light  of  an  injustice,  a  thing  to 
blush  for. 

Was  she  in  her  right  place,  in  this  soft-cushioned 
carriage,  among  these  tyrants  and  blood-suckers? 
Should  she  not  rather  be  out  there  in  the  billowing 
mass,  among  the  children  of  hate  ? 

Half  -  forgotten  thoughts  and  feelings  thrust  up 
their  heads  like  beasts  of  prey  which  have  long 
lain  bound.  She  felt  strange  and  homeless  in  her 
glittering  life,  and  thought  with  a  sort  of  demoniac 
longing  of  the  horrible  places  from  which  she  had 
risen. 

She  seized  her  rich  lace  shawl ;  there  came  over 
her  a  wild  desire  to  destroy,  to  tear  something  to 
pieces ;  but  at  this  moment  the  carriage  turned 
into  the  gate-way  of  the  hotel. 

The  footman  tore  open  the  door,  and  with  her 
gracious  smile,  her  air  of  quiet,  aristocratic  distinc- 
tion, she  alighted. 

A  young  attach^  rushed  forward,  and  was  happy 
when  she  took  his  arm,  still  more  enraptured  when 
he  thought  he  noticed  an  unusual  gleam  in  her  eyes, 
and  in  the  seventh  heaven  when  he  felt  her  arm 
tremble. 

Full  of  pride  and  hope,  he  led  her  with  sedulous 
politeness  up  the  shining  marble  steps. 

"  Tell  me,  belle  dame,  what  good  fairy  endowed 
you  in  your  cradle  with  the  marvellous  gift  of 


10  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

transforming  everything  you  touch  into  something 
new  and  strange.  The  very  flower  in  your  hair 
has  a  charm,  as  though  it  were  wet  with  the  fresh 
morning  dew.  And  when  you  dance  it  seems  as 
though  the  floor  swayed  and  undulated  to  the  rhythm 
of  your  footsteps." 

The  Count  was  himself  quite  astonished  at  this 
long  and  felicitous  compliment,  for  as  a  rule  he  did 
not  find  it  easy  to  express  himself  coherently.  He 
expected,  too,  that  his  beautiful  partner  would  show 
her  appreciation  of  his  effort 

But  he  was  disappointed.  She  leaned  over  the 
balcony,  where  they  were  enjoying  the  cool  evening 
air  after  the  dance,  and  gazed  out  over  the  crowd 
and  the  still-advancing  carriages.  She  seemed  not 
to  have  understood  the  Count's  great  achievement ; 
at  least  he  could  only  hear  her  whisper  the  inex. 
plicable  word,  "  Pharaoh." 

He  was  on  the  point  of  remonstrating  with  her, 
when  she  turned  round,  made  a  step  towards  the 
salon,  stopped  right  in  front  of  him,  and  looked 
him  in  the  face  with  great,  wonderful  eyes,  such  as 
the  Count  had  never  seen  before. 

"  I  scarcely  think.  Monsieur  le  Comte,  that  any 
good  fairy — perhaps  not  even  a  cradle — was  pres- 
ent at  my  birth.  But  in  what  you  say  of  my  flow- 
ers and  my  dancing  your  penetration  has  led  you 
to  a  great  discovery.  I  will  tell  you  the  secret  of 
the  fresh  morning  dew  which  lies  on  the  flowers. 
It  is  the  tears,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  which  envy  and 


PHARAOH.  H 

shame,  disappointment  and  remorse,  have  wept 
over  them.  And  if  you  seem  to  feel  the  floor  sway- 
ing as  we  dance,  that  is  because  it  trembles  under 
the  hatred  of  millions." 

She  had  spoken  with  her  customary  repose,  and 
with  a  friendly  bow  she  disappeared  into  the  salon. 


The  Count  remained  rooted  to  the  spot.  He 
cast  a  glance  over  the  crowd  outside.  It  was  a 
sight  he  had  often  seen,  and  he  had  made  sundry 
more  or  less  trivial  witticisms  about  the  "  many- 
headed  monster."  But  to-night  it  struck  him  for 
the  first  time  that  this  monster  was,  after  all,  the 
most  unpleasant  neighbor  for  a  palace  one  could 
possibly  imagine. 

Strange  and  disturbing  thoughts  whirled  in  the 
brain  of  Monsieur  le  Comte,  where  they  found 
plenty  of  space  to  gyrate.  He  was  entirely  thrown 
off  his  balance,  and  it  was  not  till  after  the  next 
polka  that  his  placidity  returned. 


THE  PARSONAGE. 


THE  PARSONAGE. 

It  seemed  as  though  the  spring  would  never 
come.  All  through  April  the  north  wind  blew  and 
the  nights  were  frosty.  In  the  middle  of  the  day 
the  sun  shone  so  warmly  that  a  few  big  flies  began 
to  buzz  around,  and  the  lark  proclaimed,  on  its 
word  of  honor,  that  it  was  the  height  of  summer. 

But  the  lark  is  the  most  untrustworthy  creature 
under  heaven.  However  much  it  might  freeze  at 
night,  the  frost  was  forgotten  at  the  first  sunbeam ; 
and  the  lark  soared,  singing,  high  over  the  heath, 
until  it  bethought  itself  that  it  was  hungry. 

Then  it  sank  slowly  down  in  wide  circles,  sing- 
ing, and  beating  time  to  its  song  with  the  flickering 
of  its  wings.  But  a  little  way  from  the  earth  it 
folded  its  wings  and  dropped  like  a  stone  down 
into  the  heather. 

The  lapwing  tripped  with  short  steps  among  the 
hillocks,  and  nodded  its  head  discreetly.  It  had 
no  great  faith  in  the  lark,  and  repeated  its  wary 
•*  Bi  litt !  Bi  litt  !"*     A  couple  of  mallards  lay  snug- 

♦"  Wait  a  bit !  Wait  a  bit !"     Pronounced  Bee  leei 


1 6  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

gling  in  a  marsh-hole,  and  the  elder  one  was  of 
opinion  that  spring  would  not  come  until  we  had 
rain. 

Far  on  into  May  the  meadows  were  still  yellow ; 
only  here  and  there  on  the  sunny  leas  was  there 
any  appearance  of  green.  But  if  you  lay  down 
upon  the  earth  you  could  see  a  multitude  of  little 
shoots — some  thick,  others  as  thin  as  green  darn- 
ing-needles— which  thrust  their  heads  cautiously 
up  through  the  mould.  But  the  north  wind  swept 
so  coldly  over  them  that  they  turned  yellow  at  the 
tips,  and  looked  as  if  they  would  like  to  creep  back 
again. 

But  that  they  could  not  do;  so  they  stood  still 
and  waited,  only  sprouting  ever  so  little  in  the  mid- 
day sun. 

The  mallard  was  right ;  it  was  rain  they  wanted. 
And  at  last  it  came  —  cold  in  the  beginning,  but 
gradually  warmer ;  and  when  it  was  over  the  sun 
came  out  in  earnest.  And  now  you  would  scarcely 
have  known  it  again ;  it  shone  warmly,  right  from 
the  early  morning  till  the  late  evening,  so  that  the 
nights  were  mild  and  moist. 

Then  an  immense  activity  set  in ;  everything 
was  behindhand,  and  had  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 
The  petals  burst  from  the  full  buds  with  a  Httle 
crack,  and  all  the  big  and  little  shoots  made  a  sub- 
den  rush.  They  darted  out  stalks,  now  to  the  one 
side,  now  to  the  other,  as  quickly  as  though  they 
lay  kicking  with  green  legs.     The  meadows  were 


THE   PARSONAGE.  1 7 

spangled  with  flowers  and  weeds,  and  the  heather 
slopes  towards  the  sea  began  to  light  up. 

Only  the  yellow  sand  along  the  shore  remained 
as  it  was ;  it  has  no  flowers  to  deck  itself  with,  and 
lyme-grass  is  all  its  finery.  Therefore  it  piles  itself 
up  into  great  mounds,  seen  far  and  wide  along  the 
shore,  on  which  the  long  soft  stems  sway  like  a 
green  banner. 

There  the  sand-pipers  ran  about  so  fast  that  their 
legs  looked  like  a  piece  of  a  tooth  comb.  The 
sea-gulls  walked  on  the  beach,  where  the  waves 
could  sweep  over  their  legs.  They  held  themselves 
sedately,  their  heads  depressed  and  their  crops 
protruded,  like  old  ladies  in  muddy  weather. 

The  sea-pie  stood  with  his  heels  together,  in  his 
tight  trousers,  his  black  swallow-tail,  and  his  white 
waistcoat. 

"  Til  By'n !  Til  By'n  !"*  he  cried,  and  at  each  cry 
he  made  a  quick  little  bow,  so  that  his  coat  tails 
whisked  up  behind  him. 

Up  in  the  heather  the  lapwing  flew  about  flap- 
ping her  wings.  The  spring  had  overtaken  her  so 
suddenly  that  she  had  not  had  time  to  find  a  prop- 
er place  for  her  nest.  She  had  laid  her  eggs  right 
in  the  middle  of  a  flat -topped  mound.  It  was  all 
wrong,  she  knew  that  quite  well ;  but  it  could  not 
be  helped  now. 

The  lark  laughed  at  it  all ;  but  the  sparrows  were 

2 

*"  To  town!  to  town!" 


1 8  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

all  in  a  hurry-scurry.  They  were  not  nearly  ready. 
Some  had  not  even  a  nest ;  others  had  laid  an  egg 
or  two ;  but  the  majority  had  sat  on  the  cow-house 
roof,  week  out,  week  in,  chattering  about  the  al- 
manac. 

Now  they  were  in  such  a  fidget  they  did  not 
know  where  to  begin.  They  held  a  meeting  in  a 
great  rose-bush,  beside  the  Pastor's  garden-fence,  all 
cackling  and  screaming  together.  The  cock- spar- 
rows ruffled  themselves  up,  so  that  all  their  feathers 
stood  straight  on  end ;  and  then  they  perked  their 
tails  up  slanting  in  the  air,  so  that  they  looked  like 
little  gray  balls  with  a  pin  stuck  in  them.  So  they 
trundled  down  the  branches  and  ricochetted  away 
over  the  meadow. 

All  of  a  sudden,  two  dashed  against  each  other. 
The  rest  rushed  up,  and  all  the  little  balls  wound 
themselves  into  one  big  one.  It  rolled  forward 
from  under  the  bush,  rose  with  a  great  hubbub  a 
little  way  into  the  air,  then  fell  in  one  mass  to  the 
earth  and  went  to  pieces.  And  then,  without  ut- 
tering a  sound,  each  of  the  little  balls  suddenly 
went  his  way,  and  a  moment  afterwards  there  was 
not  a  sparrow  to  be  seen  about  the  whole  Parson- 
age. 

Little  Ansgarius  had  watched  the  battle  of  the 
sparrows  with  lively  interest.  For,  in  his  eyes,  it 
was  a  great  engagement,  with  charges  and  cavalry 
skirmishes.  He  was  reading  Universal  History  and 
the  History  of  Norway  with  his  father,  and  there- 


THE   PARSONAGE.  1 9 

fore  everything  that  happened  about  the  house 
assumed  a  martial  aspect  in  one  way  or  another. 
When  the  cows  came  home  in  the  evening,  they 
were  great  columns  of  infantry  advancing ;  the  hens 
were  the  volunteer  forces,  and  the  cock  was  Burgo- 
master Nansen. 

Ansgarius  was  a  clever  boy,  who  had  all  his  dates 
at  his  fingers'  ends ;  but  he  had  no  idea  of  the 
meaning  of  time.  Accordingly,  he  jumbled  together 
Napoleon  and  Eric  Blood  -  Axe  and  Tiberius ;  and 
on  the  ships  which  he  saw  sailing  by  in  the  offing 
he  imagined  Tordenskiold  doing  battle,  now  with 
Vikings,  and  now  with  the  Spanish  Armada. 

In  a  secret  den  behind  the  summer-house  he 
kept  a  red  broom-stick,  which  was  called  Buceph- 
alus. It  was  his  delight  to  prance  about  the  gar- 
den with  his  steed  between  his  legs,  and  a  flower- 
stick  in  his  hand. 

A  little  way  from  the  garden  there  was  a  hillock 
with  a  few  small  trees  upon  it.  Here  he  could  lie 
in  ambush  and  keep  watch  far  and  wide  over  the 
heathery  levels  and  the  open  sea. 

He  never  failed  to  descry  one  danger  or  another 
drawing  near;  either  suspicious-looking  boats  on 
the  beach,  or  great  squadrons  of  cavalry  advancing 
so  cunningly  that  they  looked  like  nothing  but  a 
single  horse.  But  Ansgarius  saw  through  their 
stealthy  tactics ;  he  wheeled  Bucephalus  about, 
tore  down  from  the  mound  and  through  the  gar- 
den, and  dashed  at  a  gallop  into  the  farm -yard. 


20  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

The  hens  shrieked  as  if  their  last  hour  had  come, 
and  Burgomaster  Nansen  flew  right  against  the 
Pastor's  study  window. 

The  Pastor  hurried  to  the  window,  and  just  caught 
sight  of  Bucephalus's  tail  as  the  hero  dashed  round 
the  corner  of  the  cow-house,  where  he  proposed  to 
place  himself  in  a  posture  of  defence. 

"  That  boy  is  deplorably  wild,"  thought  the  Pas- 
tor. He  did  not  at  all  like  all  these  martial  pro- 
clivities. Ansgarius  was  to  be  a  man  of  peace, 
like  the  Pastor  himself ;  and  it  was  a  positive  pain 
to  him  to  see  how  easily  the  boy  learned  and  as- 
similated everything  that  had  to  do  with  war  and 
fighting. 

The  Pastor  would  try  now  and  then  to  depict 
the  peaceful  life  of  the  ancients  or  of  foreign  na- 
tions. But  he  made  little  impression.  Ansgarius 
pinned  his  faith  to  what  he  found  in  his  book ;  and 
there  it  was  nothing  but  war  after  war.  The  peo- 
ple were  all  soldiers,  the  heroes  waded  in  blood; 
and  it  was  fruitless  labor  for  the  Pastor  to  try  to 
awaken  the  boy  to  any  sympathy  with  those  whose 
blood  they  waded  in. 

It  would  occur  to  the  Pastor  now  and  again  that 
it  might,  perhaps,  have  been  better  to  have  filled 
the  young  head  from  the  first  with  more  peaceful 
ideas  and  images  than  the  wars  of  rapacious  mon- 
archs  or  the  murders  and  massacres  of  our  fore- 
fathers. But  then  he  remembered  that  he  himself 
had  gone  through  the  same  course  in  his  boyhood, 


THE   PARSONAGE.  21 

SO  that  it  must  be  all  right.  Ansgarius  would  be 
a  man  of  peace  none  the  less — and  if  not !  "  Well, 
everything  is  in  the  hand  of  Providence,"  said  the 
Pastor  confidingly,  and  set  to  work  again  at  his 
sermon. 

"You're  quite  forgetting  your  lunch  to-day,  fa- 
ther," said  a  blond  head  in  the  door-way. 

"  Why,  so  I  am,  Rebecca ;  I'm  a  whole  hour  too 
late,"  answered  the  father,  and  went  at  once  into 
the  dining-room. 

The  father  and  daughter  sat  down  at  the  lunch- 
eon-table. Ansgarius  was  always  his  own  master 
on  Saturdays,  when  the  Pastor  was  taken  up  with 
his  sermon. 

You  would  not  easily  have  found  two  people  who 
suited  each  other  better,  or  who  lived  on  terms  of 
more  intimate  friendship,  than  the  Pastor  and  his 
eighteen-year-old  daughter.  She  had  been  moth- 
erless from  childhood ;  but  there  was  so  much  that 
was  womanly  in  her  gentle,  even-tempered  father, 
that  the  young  girl,  who  remembered  her  mother 
only  as  a  pale  face  that  smiled  on  her,  felt  the  loss 
rather  as  a  peaceful  sorrow  than  as  a  bitter  pain. 

And  for  him  she  came  to  fill  up  more  and  more, 
as  she  ripened,  the  void  that  had  been  left  in  his 
soul  j  and  all  the  tenderness,  which  at  his  wife's 
death  had  been  so  clouded  in  sorrow  and  longing, 
now  gathered  around  the  young  woman  who  grew 
up  under  his  eyes  ;  so  that  his  sorrow  was  assuaged 
and  peace  descended  upon  his  mind. 


22  TALES   OF  TWO  COUNTRIES. 

Therefore  he  was  able  to  be  almost  like  a  mother 
to  her.  He  taught  her  to  look  upon  the  world 
with  his  own  pure,  untroubled  eyes.  It  became  the 
better  part  of  his  aim  in  life  to  hedge  her  around 
and  protect  her  fragile  and  delicate  nature  from  all 
the  soilures  and  perturbations  which  make  the  world 
so  perplexing,  so  difficult,  and  so  dangerous  an 
abiding-place. 

When  they  stood  together  on  the  hill  beside  the 
Parsonage,  gazing  forth  over  the  surging  sea,  he 
would  say :  "  Look,  Rebecca !  yonder  is  an  image 
of  life — of  that  life  in  which  the  children  of  this 
world  are  tossed  to  and  fro ;  in  which  impure  pas- 
sions rock  the  frail  skiff  about,  to  litter  the  shore  at 
last  with  its  shattered  fragments.  He  only  can 
defy  the  storm  who  builds  strong  bulwarks  around 
a  pure  heart — at  his  feet  the  waves  break  power- 
lessly." 

Rebecca  clung  to  her  father ;  she  felt  so  safe  by 
his  side.  There  was  such  a  radiance  over  all  he 
said,  that  when  she  thought  of  the  future  she  seemed 
to  see  the  path  before  her  bathed  in  light.  For  all 
her  questions  he  had  an  answer ;  nothing  was  too 
lofty  for  him,  nothing  too  lowly.  They  exchanged 
ideas  without  the  least  constraint,  almost  like  broth- 
er and  sister. 

And  yet  one  point  remained  dark  between  them. 
On  all  other  matters  she  would  question  her  father 
directly ;  here  she  had  to  go  indirectly  to  work,  to 
get  round  something  which  she  could  never  get  over. 


THE   PARSONAGE.  23 

She  knew  her  father's  great  sorrow;  she  knew 
what  happiness  he  had  enjoyed  and  lost.  She 
followed  with  the  warmest  sympathy  the  varying 
fortunes  of  the  lovers  in  the  books  she  read  aloud 
during  the  winter  evenings ;  her  heart  understood 
that  love,  which  brings  the  highest  joy,  may  also 
cause  the  deepest  sorrow.  But  apart  from  the  sor- 
rows of  ill-starred  love,  she  caught  glimpses  of 
something  else — a  terrible  something  which  she  did 
not  understand.  Dark  forms  would  now  and  then 
appear  to  her,  gliding  through  the  paradise  of  love, 
disgraced  and  abject.  The  sacred  name  of  love 
was  linked  with  the  direst  shame  and  the  deepest 
misery.  Among  people  whom  she  knew,  things 
happened  from  time  to  time  which  she  dared  not 
think  about ;  and  when,  in  stern  but  guarded  words, 
her  father  chanced  to  speak  of  moral  corruption, 
she  would  shrink,  for  hours  afterwards,  from  meet- 
ing his  eye. 

He  remarked  this  and  was  glad.  In  such  sensi- 
tive purity  had  she  grown  up,  so  completely  had 
he  succeeded  in  holding  aloof  from  her  whatever 
could  disturb  her  childlike  innocence,  that  her  soul 
was  like  a  shining  pearl  to  which  no  mire  could 
cling. 

He  prayed  that  he  might  ever  keep  her  thus ! 

So  long  as  he  himself  was  there  to  keep  watch, 
no  harm  should  approach  her.  And  if  he  was 
called  away,  he  had  at  least  provided  her  with 
armor  of  proof  for  life,  which  would  stand  her  in 


24  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

good  Stead  on  the  day  of  battle.  And  a  day  of 
battle  no  doubt  would  come.  He  gazed  at  her 
with  a  look  which  she  did  not  understand  and 
said  with  his  strong  faith,  *'  Well,  well,  everything 
is  in  the  hand  of  Providence  !" 

"  Haven't  you  time  to  go  for  a  walk  with  me  to- 
day, father  ?"  asked  Rebecca,  when  they  had  finish- 
ed dinner. 

"  Why,  yes ;  do  you  know,  I  believe  it  would  do 
me  good.  The  weather  is  delightful,  and  I've 
been  so  industrious  that  my  sermon  is  as  good  as 
finished." 

They  stepped  out  upon  the  threshold  before  the 
main  entrance,  which  faced  the  other  buildings  of 
the  farm.  There  was  this  peculiarity  about  the 
Parsonage,  that  the  high-road,  leading  to  the  town, 
passed  right  through  the  farm-yard.  The  Pastor 
did  not  at  all  like  this,  for  before  everything  he 
loved  peace  and  quietness ;  and  although  the  dis- 
trict was  sufficiently  out-of-the-way,  there  was  al- 
ways a  certain  amount  of  life  on  the  road  which 
led  to  the  town. 

But  for  Ansgarius  the  little  traffic  that  came 
their  way  was  an  inexhaustible  source  of  excite- 
ment. While  the  father  and  daughter  stood  on 
the  threshold  discussing  whether  they  should  fol- 
low the  road  or  go  through  the  heather  down  to 
the  beach,  the  young  warrior  suddenly  came  rush- 
ing up  the  hill  and  into  the  yard.  He  was  flushed 
and  out  of  breath,  and  Bucephalus  was  going  at  a 


THE   PARSONAGE.  2$ 

hand  gallop.  Right  before  the  door  he  reined  in 
his  horse  with  a  sudden  jerk,  so  that  he  made  a 
deep  gash  in  the  sand ;  and  swinging  his  sword, 
he  shouted,  "  They're  coming,  they're  coming  !" 

"  Who  are  coming  ?"  asked  Rebecca. 

"  Snorting  black  chargers  and  three  war  chariots 
full  of  men-at-arms," 

*'  Rubbish,  my  boy !"  said  his  father,  sternly. 

"Three  phaetons  are  coming  with  townspeople 
in  them,"  said  Ansgarius,  and  dismounted  with  an 
abashed  air. 

"  Let  us  go  in,  Rebecca,"  said  the  Pastor,  turning. 

But  at  the  same  moment  the  foremost  horses 
came  at  a  quick  pace  over  the  brow  of  the  hill. 
They  were  not  exactly  snorting  chargers ;  yet  it 
was  a  pretty  sight  as  carriage  after  carriage  came 
into  view  in  the  sunshine,  full  of  merry  faces  and 
lively  colors.     Rebecca  could  not  help  stopping. 

On  the  back  seat  of  the  foremost  carriage  sat  an 
elderly  gentleman  and  a  buxom  lady.  On  the  front 
seat  she  saw  a  young  lady ;  and  just  as  they  en- 
tered the  yard,  a  gentleman  who  sat  at  her  side 
stood  up,  and,  with  a  word  of  apology  to  the  lady 
on  the  back  seat,  turned  and  looked  forward  past 
the  driver.  Rebecca  gazed  at  him  without  know- 
ing what  she  was  doing. 

"  How  lovely  it  is  here  !"  cried  the  young  man. 

For  the  Parsonage  lay  on  the  outermost  slope 
towards  the  sea,  so  that  the  vast  blue  horizon  sud- 
denly burst  upon  you  as  you  entered  the  yard. 


26  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

The  gentleman  on  the  back  seat  leaned  a  little 
forward.  "  Yes,  it's  very  pretty  here,"  he  said ;  "  I'm 
glad  that  you  appreciate  our  peculiar  scenery,  Mr. 
Lintzow." 

At  the  same  moment  the  young  man's  glance 
met  Rebecca's,  and  she  instantly  lowered  her  eyes. 
But  he  stopped  the  driver,  and  cried,  "  Let  us  re- 
main here !" 

"  Hush  !"  said  the  older  lady,  with  a  low  laugh. 
"  This  won't  do,  Mr.  Lintzow ;  this  is  the  Parsonage." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  cried  the  young  man,  merri- 
ly, as  he  jumped  out  of  the  carriage.  "  I  say,"  he 
shouted  backward  towards  the  other  carriages, 
"  sha'n't  we  rest  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  came  the  answer  in  chorus ;  and  the 
merry  party  began  at  once  to  alight. 

But  now  the  gentleman  on  the  back  seat  rose, 
and  said,  seriously :  "  No,  no,  my  friends  !  this  real- 
ly won't  do  !  It's  out  of  the  question  for  us  to  de- 
scend upon  the  clergyman,  whom  we  don't  know  at 
all.  It's  only  ten  minutes'  drive  to  the  district 
judge's,  and  there  they  are  in  the  habit  of  receiv- 
ing strangers." 

He  was  on  the  point  of  giving  orders  to  drive  on, 
when  the  Pastor  appeared  in  the  door-way,  with  a 
friendly  bow.  He  knew  Consul  Hartvig  by  sight 
— the  leading  man  of  the  town. 

"  If  your  party  will  make  the  best  of  things  here, 
it  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  me ;  and  I  think  I  may 
say  that,  so  far  as  the  view  goes — " 


THE   PARSONAGE.  27 

"Oh  no,  my  dear  Pastor,  you're  altogether  too 
kind ;  it's  out  of  the  question  for  us  to  accept  your 
kind  invitation,  and  I  must  really  beg  you  to  excuse 
these  young  madcaps,"  said  Mrs.  Hartvig,  half  in 
despair  when  she  saw  her  youngest  son,  who  had 
been  seated  in  the  last  carriage,  already  deep  in  a 
confidential  chat  with  Ansgarius. 

"  But  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Hartvig,"  answered  the 
Pastor,  smiling,  "  that  so  pleasant  an  interruption 
of  our  solitude  would  be  most  welcome  both  to  my 
daughter  and  myself." 

Mr.  Lintzow  opened  the  carriage  -  door  with  a 
formal  bow,  Consul  Hartvig  looked  at  his  wife  and 
she  at  him,  the  Pastor  advanced  and  renewed  his 
invitation,  and  the  end  was  that,  with  half-laughing 
reluctance,  they  alighted  and  suffered  the  Pastor 
to  usher  them  into  the  spacious  garden-room. 

Then  came  renewed  excuses  and  introductions. 
The  party  consisted  of  Consul  Hartvig's  children 
and  some  young  friends  of  theirs,  the  picnic  hav- 
ing been  arranged  in  honor  of  Max  Lintzow,  a  friend 
of  the  eldest  son  of  the  house,  who  was  spending 
some  days  as  the  Consul's  guest. 

"  My  daughter  Rebecca,"  said  the  Pastor,  pre- 
senting her,  "who  will  do  the  best  our  humble 
house-keeping  permits." 

"  No,  no,  I  protest,  my  dear  Pastor,"  the  lively 
Mrs,  Hartvig  interrupted  him  eagerly,  "  this  is  go- 
ing too  far !  Even  if  this  incorrigible  Mr.  Lintzow 
and  my  crazy  sons  have    succeeded  in  storming 


28  TALES   OF  TWO  COUNTRIES. 

your  house  and  home,  I  won't  resign  the  last  rem- 
nants of  my  authority.  The  entertainment  shall 
most  certainly  be  my  affair.  Off  you  go,  young 
men,"  she  said,  turning  to  her  sons,  "  and  unpack 
the  carriages.  And  you,  my  dear  child,  must  by  all 
means  go  and  amuse  yourself  with  the  young  peo- 
ple ;  just  leave  the  catering  to  me ;  I  know  all  about 
that." 

And  the  kind-hearted  woman  looked  with  her 
honest  gray  eyes  at  her  host's  pretty  daughter,  and 
patted  her  on  the  cheek. 

How  nice  that  felt !  There  was  a  peculiar  cozi- 
ness  in  the  touch  of  the  comfortable  old  lady's  soft 
hand.  The  tears  almost  rose  to  Rebecca's  eyes; 
she  stood  as  if  she  expected  that  the  strange  lady 
would  put  her  arms  round  her  neck  and  whisper  to 
her  something  she  had  long  waited  to  hear. 

But  the  conversation  glided  on.  The  young  peo- 
ple, with  ever  -  increasing  glee,  brought  all  sorts  of 
strange  parcels  out  of  the  carriages.  Mrs.  Hartvig 
threw  her  cloak  upon  a  chair  and  set  about  arrang- 
ing things  as  best  she  could.  But  the  young  people, 
always  with  Mr.  Lintzow  at  their  head,  seemed  de- 
termined to  make  as  much  confusion  as  possible. 
Even  the  Pastor  was  infected  by  their  merriment, 
and  to  Rebecca's  unspeakable  astonishment  she 
saw  her  own  father,  in  complicity  with  Mr.  Lint- 
zow, hiding  a  big  paper  parcel  under  Mrs.  Hart- 
vig's  cloak. 

At  last  the  racket  became  too  much  for  the  old 


THE   PARSONAGE.  29 

lady.  "My  dear  Miss  Rebecca,"  she  exclaimed, 
"have  you  not  any  show -place  to  exhibit  in  the 
neighborhood — the  farther  off  the  better — so  that 
I  might  get  these  crazy  beings  off  my  hands  for  a 
little  while  ?" 

"  There's  a  lovely  view  from  the  King's  Knoll ; 
and  then  there's  the  beach  and  the  sea," 

"  Yes,  let's  go  down  to  the  sea !"  cried  Max  Lint- 
zow. 

"That's  just  what  I  want,"  said  the  old  lady. 
"  If  you  can  relieve  me  of  him  I  shall  be  all  right, 
for  he  is  the  worst  of  them  all." 

"  If  Miss  Rebecca  will  lead  the  way,  I  will  fol- 
low wherever  she  pleases,"  said  the  young  man, 
with  a  bow. 

Rebecca  blushed.  Nothing  of  that  sort  had  ever 
been  said  to  her  before.  The  handsome  young 
man  made  her  a  low  bow,  and  his  words  had  such 
a  ring  of  sincerity.  But  there  was  no  time  to  dwell 
upon  this  impression ;  the  whole  merry  troop  were 
soon  out  of  the  house,  through  the  garden,  and,  with 
Rebecca  and  Lintzow  at  their  head,  making  their 
way  up  to  the  little  height  which  was  called  the 
King's  Knoll. 

Many  years  ago  a  number  of  antiquities  had 
been  dug  up  on  the  top  of  the  Knoll,  and  one  of 
the  Pastor's  predecessors  in  the  parish  had  planted 
some  hardy  trees  upon  the  slopes.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  a  rowan-tree,  and  a  walnut-avenue  in  the 
Parsonage  garden,  these  were  the  only  trees  to  be 


3©  TALES   OF   TWO  COUNTRIES. 

found  for  miles  round  on  the  windy  slopes  facing 
the  open  sea.  In  spite  of  storms  and  sand-drifts, 
they  had,  in  the  course  of  time,  reached  something 
like  the  height  of  a  man,  and,  turning  their  bare 
and  gnarled  stems  to  the  north  wind,  like  a  bent 
back,  they  stretched  forth  their  long,  yearning  arms 
towards  the  south.  Rebecca's  mother  had  planted 
some  violets  among  them. 

"  Oh,  how  fortunate !"  cried  the  eldest  Miss  Hart- 
vig ;  "  here  are  violets !  Oh,  Mr.  Lintzow,  do  pick 
me  a  bouquet  of  them  for  this  evening !" 

The  young  man,  who  had  been  exerting  himself 
to  hit  upon  the  right  tone  in  which  to  converse 
with  Rebecca,  fancied  that  the  girl  started  at  Miss 
Frederica's  words. 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  the  violets  ?"  he  said,  softly. 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise ;  how  could  he 
possibly  know  that  ? 

"  Don't  you  think.  Miss  Hartvig,  that  it  would  be 
better  to  pick  the  flowers  just  as  we  are  starting,  so 
that  they  may  keep  fresher  ?" 

"  As  you  please,"  she  answered,  shortly. 

*'  Let's  hope  she'll  forget  all  about  it  by  that  time," 
said  Max  Lintzow  to  himself,  under  his  breath. 

But  Rebecca  heard,  and  wondered  what  pleas- 
ure he  could  find  in  protecting  her  violets,  instead 
of  picking  them  for  that  handsome  girl. 

After  they  had  spent  some  time  in  admiring  the 
limitless  prospect,  the  party  left  the  Knoll  and  took 
a  foot-path  downward  towards  the  beach. 


THE   PARSONAGE.  3 1 

On  the  smooth,  firm  sand,  at  the  very  verge  of 
the  sea,  the  young  people  strolled  along,  convers- 
ing gayly.  Rebecca  was  at  first  quite  confused. 
It  seemed  as  though  these  merry  towns -people 
spoke  a  language  she  did  not  understand.  Some- 
times she  thought  they  laughed  at  nothing;  and, 
on  the  other  hand,  she  herself  often  could  not  help 
laughing  at  their  cries  of  astonishment  and  their 
questions  about  everything  they  saw. 

But  gradually  she  began  to  feel  at  her  ease 
among  these  good  -  natured,  kindly  people ;  the 
youngest  Miss  Hartvig  even  put  her  arm  around 
her  waist  as  they  walked.  And  then  Rebecca,  too, 
thawed ;  she  joined  in  their  laughter,  and  said  what 
she  had  to  say  as  easily  and  freely  as  any  of  the 
others.  It  never  occurred  to  her  to  notice  that  the 
young  men,  and  especially  Mr,  Lintzow,  were  chief- 
ly taken  up  with  her ;  and  the  little  pointed  speeches 
which  this  circumstance  called  forth  from  time  to 
time  were  as  meaningless  for  her  as  much  of  the 
rest  of  the  conversation. 

They  amused  themselves  for  some  time  with  run- 
ning down  the  shelving  beach  every  time  the  wave 
receded,  and  then  rushing  up  again  when  the  next 
wave  came.  And  great  was  the  glee  when  one  of 
the  young  men  was  overtaken,  or  when  a  larger 
wave  than  usual  sent  its  fringe  of  foam  right  over 
the  slope,  and  forced  the  merry  party  to  beat  a  pre- 
cipitate retreat. 

"  Look !     Mamma's  afraid  that  we  shall  be  too 


32  TALES    OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

late  for  the  ball,"  cried  Miss  Hartvig,  suddenly ; 
and  they  now  discovered  that  the  Consul  and  Mrs. 
Hartvig  and  the  Pastor  were  standing  like  three 
windmills  on  the  Parsonage  hill,  waving  with  pocket- 
handkerchiefs  and  napkins. 

They  turned  their  faces  homeward.  Rebecca 
took  them  by  a  short  cut  over  the  morass,  not  re- 
flecting that  the  ladies  from  the  town  could  not 
jump  from  tuft  to  tuft  as  she  could.  Miss  Fred- 
erica,  in  her  tight  skirt,  jumped  short,  and  stumbled 
into  a  muddy  hole.  She  shrieked  and  cried  pit- 
eously  for  help,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  Lint- 
zow. 

"  Look  alive,  Henrik !"  cried  Max  to  Hartvig  jun- 
ior, who  was  nearer  at  hand ;  "  why  don't  you  help 
your  sister  ?" 

Miss  Frederica  extricated  herself  without  help, 
and  the  party  proceeded. 

The  table  was  laid  in  the  garden,  along  the  wall 
of  the  house ;  and  although  the  spring  was  so  young, 
it  was  warm  enough  in  the  sunshine.  When  they 
had  all  found  seats,  Mrs.  Hartvig  cast  a  searching 
glance  over  the  table. 

"  Why — why — surely  there's  something  wanting ! 
I'm  convinced  I  saw  the  house -keeper  wrapping 
up  a  black  grouse  this  morning.  Frederica,  my 
dear,  don't  you  remember  it  .'*" 

"  Excuse  me,  mother,  you  know  that  house-keep- 
ing is  not  at  all  in  my  department." 

Rebecca  looked  at  her  father,  and  so  did  Lint- 


THE   PARSONAGE.  33 

zow ;  the  worthy  Pastor  pulled  a  face  upon  which 
even  Ansgarius  could  read  a  confession  of  crime. 

"  I  can't  possibly  believe,"  began  Mrs.  Hartvig, 
"that  you,  Pastor,  have  been  conspiring  with — " 
And  then  he  could  not  help  laughing  and  making  a 
clean  breast  of  it,  amid  great  merriment,  while  the 
boys  in  triumph  produced  the  parcel  with  the  game. 
Every  one  was  in  the  best  possible  humor.  Consul 
Hartvig  was  delighted  to  find  that  their  clerical 
host  could  join  in  a  joke,  and  the  Pastor  himself 
was  in  higher  spirits  than  he  had  been  in  for  many 
a  year. 

In  the  course  of  the  conversation  some  one  hap- 
pened to  remark  that  although  the  arrangements 
might  be  countrified  enough,  the  viands  were  too 
town-like ;  "  No  country  meal  is  complete  without 
thick  milk."* 

Rebecca  at  once  rose  and  demanded  leave  to 
bring  a  basin  of  milk ;  and,  paying  no  attention  to 
Mrs.  Hartvig's  protests,  she  left  the  table. 

"  Let  me  help  you,  Miss  Rebecca,"  cried  Max, 
and  ran  after  her. 

"  That  is  a  lively  young  man,"  said  the  Pastor. 

"  Yes,  isn't  he  ?"  answered  the  Consul,  "  and  a 
deuced  good  business  man  into  the  bargain.  He 
has  spent  several  years  abroad,  and  now  his  father 
has  taken  him  into  partnership." 

*  Milk  allowed  to  stand  until  it  has  thickened  to  the  con- 
sistency of  curds,  and  then  eaten,  commonly  with  sugar. 
3 


34  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

"  He's  perhaps  a  little  unstable,"  said  Mrs.  Hart- 
vig,  doubtfully. 

"Yes,  he  is  indeed,"  sighed  Miss  Frederica. 

The  young  man  followed  Rebecca  through  the 
suite  of  rooms  that  led  to  the  dairy.  At  bottom, 
she  did  not  like  this,  although  the  dairy  was  her 
pride ;  but  he  joked  and  laughed  so  merrily  that 
she  could  not  help  joining  in  the  laughter. 

She  chose  a  basin  of  milk  upon  the  upper  shelf, 
and  stretched  out  her  arms  to  reach  it. 

"  No,  no.  Miss  Rebecca,  it's  too  high  for  you !" 
cried  Max;  "let  me  hand  it  down  to  you."  And 
as  he  said  so  he  laid  his  hand  upon  hers. 

Rebecca  hastily  drew  back  her  hand.  She  knew 
that  her  face  had  flushed,  and  she  almost  felt  as  if 
she  must  burst  into  tears. 

Then  he  said,  softly  and  earnestly,  lowering  his 
eyes,  "  Pray,  pardon  me.  Miss  Rebecca.  I  feel  that 
my  behavior  must  seem  far  too  light  and  frivolous 
to  such  a  woman  as  you ;  but  I  should  be  sorry 
that  you  should  think  of  me  as  nothing  but  the 
empty  coxcomb  I  appear  to  be.  Merriment,  to 
many  people,  is  merely  a  cloak  for  their  sufferings, 
and  there  are  some  who  laugh  only  that  they  may 
not  weep." 

At  the  last  words  he  looked  up.  There  was 
something  so  mournful,  and  at  the  same  time  so 
reverential,  in  his  glance,  that  Rebecca  all  of  a  sud- 
den felt  as  if  she  had  been  unkind  to  him.  She 
was  accustomed  to  reach  things  down  from  the  up- 


THE   PARSONAGE.  35 

per  shelf,  but  when  she  again  stretched  out  her 
hands  for  the  basin  of  milk,  she  let  her  arms  drop, 
and  said,  "  No,  perhaps  it  is  too  high  for  me,  after 
all." 

A  faint  smile  passed  over  his  face  as  he  took 
the  basin  and  carried  it  carefully  out ;  she  accom- 
panied him  and  opened  the  doors  for  him.  Every 
time  he  passed  her  she  looked  closely  at  him.  His 
collar,  his  necktie,  his  coat — everything  was  differ- 
ent from  her  father's,  and  he  carried  with  him  a 
peculiar  perfume  which  she  did  not  know. 

When  they  came  to  the  garden  door,  he  stopped 
for  an  instant,  and  looked  up  with  a  melancholy 
smile :  "  I  must  take  a  moment  to  recover  my  ex 
pression  of  gayety,  so  that  no  one  out  there  may 
notice  anything." 

Then  he  passed  out  upon  the  steps  with  a  joking 
speech  to  the  company  at  the  table,  and  she  heard 
their  laughing  answers ;  but  she  herself  remained 
behind  in  the  garden-room. 

Poor  young  man !  how  sorry  she  was  for  him ; 
and  how  strange  that  she  of  all  people  should  be 
the  only  one  in  whom  he  confided.  What  secret 
sorrow  could  it  be  that  depressed  him  ?  Perhaps 
he,  too,  had  lost  his  mother.  Or  could  it  be  some- 
thing still  more  terrible  ?  How  glad  she  would  be 
if  only  she  could  help  him. 

When  Rebecca  presently  came  out  he  was  once 
more  the  blithest  of  them  all.  Only  once  in  a  while, 
when  he  looked  at  her,  his  eyes  seemed  again  to 


36  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES, 

assume  that  melancholy,  half  -  beseeching  expres- 
sion ;  and  it  cut  her  to  the  heart  when  he  laughed 
at  the  same  moment. 

At  last  came  the  time  for  departure ;  there  was 
hearty  leave-taking  on  both  sides.  But  as  the  last 
of  the  packing  was  going  on,  and  in  the  general 
confusion,  while  every  one  was  finding  his  place  in 
the  carriages,  or  seeking  a  new  place  for  the  home- 
ward journey,  Rebecca  slipped  into  the  house, 
through  the  rooms,  out  into  the  garden,  and  away 
to  the  King's  Knoll.  Here  she  seated  herself  in 
the  shadow  of  the  trees,  where  the  violets  grew, 
and  tried  to  collect  her  thoughts. 

— "  What  about  the  violets,  Mr.  Lintzow  ?"  cried 
Miss  Frederica,  who  had  already  taken  her  seat  in 
the  carriage. 

The  young  man  had  for  some  time  been  eagerly 
searching  for  the  daughter  of  the  house.  He  an- 
swered absently,  "  I'm  afraid  it's  too  late." 

But  a  thought  seemed  suddenly  to  strike  him. 
"Oh,  Mrs.  Hartvig,"  he  cried,  "will  you  excuse  me 
for  a  couple  of  minutes  while  I  fetch  a  bouquet  for 
Miss  Frederica?" 

— Rebecca  heard  rapid  steps  approaching ;  she 
thought  it  could  be  no  one  but  he. 

"  Ah,  are  you  here,  Miss  Rebecca  ?  I  have  come 
to  gather  some  violets." 

She  turned  half  away  from  him  and  began  to 
pluck  the  flowers. 

"Are  these  flowers  for  me  ?"  he  asked,  hesitatingly. 


THE   PARSONAGE.  37 

*'  Are  they  not  for  Miss  Frederica  ?" 

**  Oh  no,  let  them  be  for  me !"  he  besought,  kneel- 
ing at  her  side. 

Again  his  voice  had  such  a  plaintive  ring  in  it — 
almost  like  that  of  a  begging  child. 

She  handed  him  the  violets  without  looking  up. 
Then  he  clasped  her  round  the  waist  and  held  her 
close  to  him.  She  did  not  resist,  but  closed  her 
eyes  and  breathed  heavily.  Then  she  felt  that  he 
kissed  her — over  and  over  again — on  the  eyes,  on 
the  mouth,  meanwhile  calling  her  by  her  name, 
with  incoherent  words,  and  then  kissing  her  again. 
They  called  to  him  from  the  garden ;  he  let  her  go 
and  ran  down  the  mound.  The  horses  stamped, 
the  young  man  sprang  quickly  into  the  carriage, 
and  it  rolled  away.  But  as  he  was  closing  the 
carriage  door  he  was  so  maladroit  as  to  drop 
the  bouquet;  only  a  single  violet  remained  in  his 
hand. 

"  I  suppose  it's  no  use  offering  you  this  one,  Miss 
Frederica?"  he  said. 

"  No,  thanks ;  you  may  keep  that  as  a  memento 
of  your  remarkable  dexterity,"  answered  Miss  Hart- 
vig ;  he  was  in  her  black  books. 

"Yes — you  are  right — I  shall  do  so,"  answered 
Max  Lintzow,  with  perfect  composure. 

— Next  day,  after  the  ball,  when  he  put  on  his 
morning- coat,  he  found  a  withered  violet  in  the 
button-hole.  He  nipped  off  the  flower  with  his  fin- 
gers, and  drew  out  the  stalk  from  beneath. 


38  TALES  OF  TWO  COUNTRIES. 

"  By-the-bye,"  he  said,  smiling  to  himself  in  the 
mirror,  "  I  had  almost  forgotten  herP^ 

In  the  afternoon  he  went  away,  and  then  he 
quite  forgot  her. 

The  summer  came  with  warm  days  and  long,  lu- 
minous nights.  The  smoke  of  the  passing  steam- 
ships lay  in  long  black  streaks  over  the  peaceful 
sea.  The  sailing-ships  drifted  by  with  flapping  sails 
and  took  nearly  a  whole  day  to  pass  out  of  sight 

It  was  some  time  before  the  Pastor  noticed  any 
change  in  his  daughter.  But  little  by  little  he  be- 
came aware  that  Rebecca  was  not  flourishing  that 
summer.  She  had  grown  pale,  and  kept  much  to 
her  own  room.  She  scarcely  ever  came  into  the 
study,  and  at  last  he  fancied  that  she  avoided  him. 

Then  he  spoke  seriously  to  her,  and  begged  her 
to  tell  him  if  she  was  ill,  or  if  mental  troubles  of 
any  sort  had  affected  her  spirits. 

But  she  only  wept,  and  answered  scarcely  a  word. 

After  this  conversation,  however,  things  went 
rather  better.  She  did  not  keep  so  much  by  her- 
self, and  was  oftener  with  her  father.  But  the  old 
ring  was  gone  from  her  voice,  and  her  eyes  were 
not  so  frank  as  of  old. 

The  Doctor  came,  and  began  to  cross-question 
her.  She  blushed  as  red  as  fire,  and  at  last  burst 
into  such  a  paroxysm  of  weeping,  that  the  old  gen- 
tleman left  her  room  and  went  down  to  the  Pastor 
in  his  study. 


THE  PARSONAGE.  39 

"  Well,  Doctor,  what  do  you  think  of  Rebecca  ?" 

"  Tell  me  now,  Pastor,"  began  the  Doctor,  diplo- 
matically, "  has  your  daughter  gone  through  any  vio- 
lent mental  crisis — hm — any — " 

"  Temptation,  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  No,  not  exactly.  Has  she  not  had  any  sort  of 
heartache  ?  Or,  to  put  it  plainly,  any  love  -  sor- 
row ?" 

The  Pastor  was  very  near  feeling  a  little  hurt. 
How  could  the  Doctor  suppose  that  his  own  Re- 
becca, whose  heart  was  as  an  open  book  to  him, 
could  or  would  conceal  from  her  father  any  sorrow 
of  such  a  nature !  And,  besides — !  Rebecca  was 
really  not  one  of  the  girls  whose  heads  were  full  of 
romantic  dreams  of  love.  And  as  she  was  never 
away  from  his  side,  how  could  she — ?  "  No,  no,  my 
dear  Doctor !  That  diagnosis  does  you  little  cred- 
it !"  the  Pastor  concluded,  with  a  tranquil  smile. 

"  Well,  well,  there's  no  harm  done !"  said  the  old 
Doctor,  and  wrote  a  prescription  which  was  at  least 
innocuous.  He  knew  of  no  simples  to  cure  love- 
sorrows  ;  but  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  held  to  his 
diagnosis. 

The  visit  of  the  Doctor  had  frightened  Rebecca. 
She  now  kept  still  stricter  watch  upon  herself,  and 
redoubled  her  exertions  to  seem  as  before.  For 
no  one  must  suspect  what  had  happened :  that  a 
young  man,  an  utter  stranger,  had  held  her  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her — over  and  over  again ! 

As  often  as  she  realized  this  the  blood  rushed 


40  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

to  her  cheeks.  She  washed  herself  ten  times  in 
the  day,  yet  it  seemed  she  could  never  be  clean. 

For  what  was  it  that  had  happened  ?  Was  it  not 
the  last  extremity  of  shame  ?  Was  she  now  any 
better  than  the  many  wretched  girls  whose  errors 
she  had  shuddered  to  think  of,  and  had  never  been 
able  to  understand  ?  Ah,  if  there  were  only  any 
one  she  could  question !  If  she  could  only  un- 
burden her  mind  of  all  the  doubt  and  uncertainty 
that  tortured  her ;  learn  clearly  what  she  had  done ; 
find  out  if  she  had  still  the  right  to  look  her  father 
in  the  face — or  if  she  were  the  most  miserable  of  all 
sinners. 

Her  father  often  asked  her  if  she  could  not  con- 
fide to  him  what  was  weighing  on  her  mind ;  for  he 
felt  that  she  was  keeping  something  from  him.  But 
when  she  looked  into  his  clear  eyes,  into  his  pure 
open  face,  it  seemed  impossible,  literally  impossible, 
to  approach  that  terrible  impure  point — and  she 
only  wept.  She  thought  sometimes  of  that  good 
Mrs.  Hartvig's  soft  hand ;  but  she  was  a  stranger, 
and  far  away.  So  she  must  e'en  fight  out  her  fight 
in  utter  solitude,  and  so  quietly  that  no  one  should 
be  aware  of  it. 

And  he,  who  was  pursuing  his  path  through  life 
with  so  bright  a  countenance  and  so  heavy  a  heart ! 
Should  she  ever  see  him  again  ?  And  if  she  were 
ever  to  meet  him,  where  should  she  hide  herself  ? 
He  was  an  inseparable  part  of  all  her  doubt  and 
pain  3  but  she  felt  no  bitterness,  no   resentment 


THE   PARSONAGE.  4I 

towards  him.  All  that  she  suffered  bound  her 
closer  to  him,  and  he  was  never  out  of  her  thoughts. 

In  the  daily  duties  of  the  household  Rebecca 
was  as  punctual  and  careful  as  ever.  But  in  every- 
thing she  did  he  was  present  to  her  memory.  In- 
numerable spots  in  the  house  and  garden  recalled 
him  to  her  thoughts ;  she  met  him  in  the  door-ways ; 
she  remembered  where  he  stood  when  first  he  spoke 
to  her.  She  had  never  been  at  the  King's  Knoll 
since  that  day ;  it  was  there  that  he  had  clasped 
her  round  the  waist,  and — kissed  her. 

The  Pastor  was  full  of  solicitude  about  his  daugh- 
ter ;  but  whenever  the  Doctor's  hint  occurred  to 
him  he  shook  his  head,  half  angrily.  How  could 
he  dream  that  a  practised  hand,  with  a  well-worn 
trick  of  the  fence,  could  pierce  the  armor  of  proof 
with  which  he  had  provided  her  ? 

If  the  spring  had  been  late,  the  autumn  was 
early. 

One  fine  warm  summer  evening  it  suddenly  be- 
gan to  rain.  The  next  day  it  was  still  raining; 
and  it  poured  incessantly,  growing  ever  colder  and 
colder,  for  eleven  days  and  nights  on  end.  At  last 
it  cleared  up ;  but  the  next  night  there  were  four 
degrees  of  frost.* 

On  the  bushes  and  trees  the  leaves  hung  glued 
together  after  the  long  rain ;   and  when  the  frost 

*  Reaumur. 


42  TALES  OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

had  dried  them  after  its  fashion,  they  fell  to  the 
ground  in  multitudes  at  every  little  puif  of  wind. 

The  Pastor's  tenant  was  one  of  the  few  that  had 
got  their  com  in ;  and  now  it  had  to  be  threshed 
while  there  was  water  for  the  machine.  The  little 
brook  in  the  valley  rushed  foaming  along,  as  brown 
as  coffee,  and  all  the  men  on  the  farm  were  taken 
up  with  tending  the  machine  and  carting  com  and 
straw  up  and  down  the  Parsonage  hill. 

The  farm -yard  was  bestrewn  with  straw,  and 
when  the  wind  swirled  in  between  the  houses  it 
seized  the  oat-straws  by  the  head,  raised  them  on 
end,  and  set  them  dancing  along  like  yellow  spec- 
tres. It  was  the  juvenile  autumn  wind  trying  its 
strength ;  not  until  well  on  in  the  winter,  when  it 
has  full-grown  lungs,  does  it  take  to  playing  with 
tiles  and  chimney-pots. 

A  sparrow  sat  crouched  together  upon  the  dog- 
kennel  ;  it  drew  its  head  down  among  its  feathers, 
blinked  its  eyes,  and  betrayed  no  interest  in  any- 
thing. But  in  reality  it  noted  carefully  where  the 
com  was  deposited.  In  the  great  sparrow-battle 
of  the  spring  it  had  been  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
ball,  and  had  pecked  and  screamed  with  the  best 
of  them.  But  it  had  sobered  down  since  then ;  it 
thought  of  its  wife  and  children,  and  reflected  how 
good  it  was  to  have  something  in  reserve  against 
the  winter 

— Ansgarius  looked  forward  to  the  winter — to  per- 
ilous expeditions  through  the  snow-drifts  and  pitch- 


THB   PARSONAGE.  43 

dark  evenings  with  thundering  breakers.  He  al- 
ready turned  to  account  the  ice  which  lay  on  the 
puddles  after  the  frosty  nights,  by  making  all  his 
tin  soldiers,  with  two  brass  cannons,  march  out 
upon  it.  Stationed  upon  an  overturned  bucket,  he 
watched  the  ice  giving  way,  little  by  little,  until  the 
whole  army  was  immersed,  and  only  the  wheels  of 
the  cannons  remained  visible.  Then  he  shouted, 
"Hurrah  !"  and  swung  his  cap. 

"  What  are  you  shouting  about  ?"  asked  the  Pas- 
tor, who  happened  to  pass  through  the  farm-yard. 

"  I'm  playing  at  Austerlitz !"  answered  Ansga- 
rius,  beaming. 

The  father  passed  on,  sighing  mournfully;  he 
could  not  understand  his  children 

— Down  in  the  garden  sat  Rebecca  on  a  bench  in 
the  sun.  She  looked  out  over  the  heather,  which 
was  in  purple  flower,  while  the  meadows  were  put- 
ting on  their  autumn  pallor. 

The  lapwings  were  gathering  in  silence,  and  hold- 
ing flying -drills  in  preparation  for  their  journey; 
and  all  the  strand-birds  were  assembling,  in  order 
to  take  flight  together.  Even  the  lark  had  lost  its 
courage  and  was  seeking  convoy — voiceless  and 
unknown  among  the  other  gray  autumn  birds.  But 
the  sea-gull  stalked  peaceably  about,  protruding  its 
crop ;  it  was  not  under  notice  to  quit. 

The  air  was  so  still  and  languid  and  hazy.  All 
sounds  and  colors  were  toning  down  against  the 
winter,  and  that  was  very  pleasant  to  her. 


44  TALES   OF  TWO   COUNTRIES. 

She  was  weary,  and  the  long  dead  winter  would 
suit  her  well.  She  knew  that  her  winter  would  be 
longer  than  all  the  others,  and  she  began  to  shrink 
from  the  spring. 

Then  everything  would  awaken  that  the  winter 
had  laid  to  sleep.  The  birds  would  come  back  and 
sing  the  old  songs  with  new  voices  ;  and  upon  the 
King's  Knoll  her  mother's  violets  would  peer  forth 
afresh  in  azure  clusters ;  it  was  there  that  he  had 
clasped  her  round  the  waist  and  kissed  her — over 
and  over  again. 


THE   PEAT   MOOR. 


THE   PEAT  MOOR. 

High  over  the  heathery  wastes  flew  a  wise  old 
raven. 

He  was  bound  many  miles  westward,  right  out 
to  the  sea-coast,  to  unearth  a  sow's  ear  which  he 
had  buried  in  the  good  times. 

It  was  now  late  autumn,  and  food  was  scarce. 

When  you  see  one  raven,  says  Father  Brehm, 
you  need  only  look  round  to  discover  a  second. 

But  you  might  have  looked  long  enough  where 
this  wise  old  raven  came  flpngj  he  was,  and  re- 
mained, alone.  And  without  troubling  about  any- 
thing or  uttering  a  sound,  he  sped  on  his  strong 
coal-black  wings  through  the  dense  rain-mist,  steer- 
ing due  west. 

But  as  he  flew,  evenly  and  meditatively,  his  sharp 
eyes  searched  the  landscape  beneath,  and  the  old 
bird  was  full  of  chagrin. 

Year  by  year  the  little  green  and  yellow  patches 
down  there  increased  in  number  and  size;  rood 
after  rood  was  cut  out  of  the  heathery  waste,  little 
houses  sprang  up  with  red-tiled  roofs  and  low  chim- 


48  TALES   OF  TWO   COUNTRIES. 

neys  breathing  oily  peat-reek.  Men  and  their  med- 
dling everywhere ! 

He  remembered  how,  in  the  days  of  his  youth — 
several  winters  ago,  of  course — this  was  the  very 
place  for  a  wide-awake  raven  with  a  family :  long, 
interminable  stretches  of  heather,  swarms  of  lever- 
ets and  little  birds,  eider-ducks  on  the  shore  with 
delicious  big  eggs,  and  tidbits  of  all  sorts  abundant 
as  heart  could  desire. 

Now  he  saw  house  upon  house,  patches  of  yellow 
corn-land  and  green  meadows ;  and  food  was  so 
scarce  that  a  gentlemanly  old  raven  had  to  fly  miles 
and  miles  for  a  paltry  sow's  ear. 

Oh,  those  men  !  those  men  1  The  old  bird  knew 
them. 

He  had  grown  up  among  men,  and,  what  was 
more,  among  the  aristocracy.  He  had  passed  his 
childhood  and  youth  at  the  great  house  close  to 
the  town. 

But  now,  whenever  he  passed  over  the  house,  he 
soared  high  into  the  air,  so  as  not  to  be  recognized. 
For  when  he  saw  a  female  figure  down  in  the  gar- 
den, he  thought  it  was  the  young  lady  of  the  house, 
wearing  powdered  hair  and  a  white  head-dress; 
whereas  it  was  in  reality  her  daughter,  with  snow- 
white  curls  and  a  widow's  cap. 

Had  he  enjoyed  his  life  among  the  aristocracy  ? 
Oh,  that's  as  you  please  to  look  at  it  There  was 
plenty  to  eat  and  plenty  to  learn ;  but,  after  all,  it 
was  captivity.     During  the  first  years  his  left  wing 


THE  PEAT  MOOR.  49 

was  clipped,  and  afterwards,  as  his  old  master  used 
to  say,  he  was  upon  parole  d'honneur. 

This  parole  he  had  broken  one  spring  when  a 
glossy-black  young  she-raven  happened  to  fly  over 
the  garden. 

Some  time  afterwards — a  few  winters  had  slipped 
away  —  he  came  back  to  the  house.  But  some 
strange  boys  threw  stones  at  him ;  the  old  master 
and  the  young  lady  were  not  at  home. 

"  No  doubt  they  are  in  town,"  thought  the  old 
raven ;  and  he  came  again  some  time  later.  But 
he  met  with  just  the  same  reception. 

Then  the  gentlemenly  old  bird — for  in  the  mean- 
time he  had  grown  old — felt  hurt,  and  now  he  flew 
high  over  the  house.  He  would  have  nothing  more 
to  do  with  men,  and  the  old  master  and  the  young 
lady  might  look  for  him  as  long  as  they  pleased. 
That  they  did  so  he  never  doubted. 

And  he  forgot  all  that  he  had  learned,  both  the 
difficult  French  words  which  the  young  lady  taught 
him  in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  incomparably 
easier  expletives  which  he  had  picked  up  on  his 
own  account  in  the  servants'  hall. 

Only  two  human  sounds  clung  to  his  memory,  the 
last  relics  of  his  vanished  learning.  When  he  was 
in  a  thoroughly  good-humor,  he  would  often  say, 
"  Bonjour,  madame !"  But  when  he  was  angry,  he 
shrieked,  "  Go  to  the  devil !" 

Through  the  dense  rain-mist  he  sped  swiftly  and 
unswervingly ;  already  he  saw  the  white  wreath  of 
A 


50  TALES   OF   TWO  COUNTRIES. 

surf  along  the  coast.  Then  he  descried  a  great 
black  waste  stretching  out  beneath  him.  It  was  a 
peat  moor. 

It  was  encircled  with  farms  on  the  heights  around ; 
but  on  the  low  plain — it  must  have  been  over  a  mile* 
long — there  was  no  trace  of  human  meddling ;  only 
a  few  stacks  of  peat  on  the  outskirts,  with  black 
hummocks  and  gleaming  water-holes  between  them. 

"  Bonjour,  madame !"  cried  the  old  raven,  and 
began  to  wheel  in  great  circles  over  the  moor.  It 
looked  so  inviting  that  he  settled  downward,  slow- 
ly and  warily,  and  alighted  upon  a  tree-root  in  the 
midst  of  it. 

Here  it  was  just  as  in  the  old  days  —  a  silent 
wilderness.  On  some  scattered  patches  of  drier 
soil  there  grew  a  little  short  heather  and  a  few 
clumps  of  rushes.  They  were  withered;  but  on 
their  stiff  stems  there  still  hung  one  or  two  tufts — 
black,  and  sodden  by  the  autumn  rain.  For  the 
most  part  the  soil  was  fine,  black,  and  crumbling — 
wet  and  full  of  water -holes.  Gray  and  twisted 
tree -roots  stuck  up  above  the  surface,  interlaced 
like  a  gnarled  net-work. 

The  old  raven  well  understood  all  that  he  saw. 
There  had  been  trees  here  in  the  old  times,  before 
even  his  day. 

The  wood  had  disappeared;  branches,  leaves, 
everything  was  gone.    Only  the  tangled  roots  re- 

*  One  Norwegian  mile  is  equal  to  seven  English  miles. 


THE  PEAT  MOOR.  5 1 

mained,  deep  down  in  the  soft  mass  of  black  fibres 
and  water. 

But  further  than  this,  change  could  not  possibly 
go ;  so  it  must  endure,  and  here,  at  any  rate,  men 
would  have  to  stint  their  meddling. 

The  old  bird  held  himself  erect.  The  farms  lay 
so  far  away  that  he  felt  securely  at  home,  here  in 
the  middle  of  the  bottomless  morass.  One  relic,  at 
least,  of  antiquity  must  remain  undisturbed.  He 
smoothed  his  glossy  black  feathers,  and  said  sev- 
eral times,  "  Bonjour,  madame !" 

But  down  from  the  nearest  farm  came  a  couple 
of  men  with  a  horse  and  cart ;  two  small  boys  ran 
behind.  They  took  a  crooked  course  among  the 
hummocks,  but  made  as  though  to  cross  the  morass. 

"  They  must  soon  stop,"  thought  the  raven. 

But  they  drew  nearer  and  nearer ;  the  old  bird 
turned  his  head  uneasily  from  side  to  side ;  it  was 
strange  that  they  should  venture  so  far  out. 

At  last  they  stopped,  and  the  men  set  to  work 
with  spades  and  axes.  The  raven  could  see  that 
they  were  struggling  with  a  huge  root  which  they 
wanted  to  loosen. 

"  They  will  soon  tire  of  that,"  thought  the  raven. 

But  they  did  not  tire;  they  hacked  with  their 
axes — ^the  sharpest  the  raven  had  ever  seen — they 
dug  and  hauled,  and  at  last  they  actually  got  the 
huge  stem  turned  over  on  its  side,  so  that  the  whole 
tough  net-work  of  roots  stood  straight  up  in  the 
air. 


52  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

The  small  boys  wearied  of  digging  canals  be- 
tween the  water- holes.  "Look  at  that  great  big 
crow  over  there,"  said  one  of  them. 

They  armed  themselves  with  a  stone  in  each 
hand,  and  came  sneaking  forward  behind  the  hum- 
mocks. 

The  raven  saw  them  quite  well.  But  that  was 
not  the  worst  thing  it  saw. 

Not  even  out  on  the  morass  was  antiquity  to  be 
left  in  peace.  He  had  now  seen  that  even  the 
gray  tree -roots,  older  than  the  oldest  raven,  and 
firmly  inwoven  into  the  deep,  bottomless  morass — 
that  even  they  had  to  yield  before  the  sharp  axes. 

And  when  the  boys  had  got  so  near  that  they 
were  on  the  point  of  opening  fire,  he  raised  his 
heavy  wings  and  soared  aloft. 

But  as  he  rose  into  the  air  and  looked  down 
upon  the  toiling  men  and  the  stupid  boys,  who 
stood  gaping  at  him  with  a  stone  in  each  hand,  a 
great  wrath  seized  the  old  bird. 

He  swooped  down  upon  the  boys  like  an  eagle, 
and  while  his  great  wings  flounced  about  their 
ears,  he  shrieked  in  a  terrible  voice,  "  Go  to  the 
devil !" 

The  boys  gave  a  yell  and  threw  themselves  down 
upon  the  ground.  When  they  presently  ventured 
to  look  up  again,  all  was  still  and  deserted  as  be- 
fore. Far  away,  a  solitary  black  bird  winged  to  the 
westward. 

But  till  they  grew  to  be  men — aye,  even  to  their 


THE  PEAT   MOOR.  53 

dying  day  —  they  were  firmly  convinced  that  the 
Evil  One  himself  had  appeared  to  them  out  on  the 
black  morass,  in  the  form  of  a  monstrous  black  bird 
with  eyes  of  fire. 

But  it  was  only  an  old  raven,  flying  westward  to 
unearth  a  sow's  ear  which  it  had  buried. 


"HOPE'S  CLAD  IN  APRIL  GREEN." 


"HOPE'S  CLAD  IN  APRIL  GREEN." 

"You're  kicking  up  the  dust!"  cried  Cousin 
Hans. 

Ola  did  not  hear. 

"  He's  quite  as  deaf  as  Aunt  Maren,"  thought 
Hans,  "  You're  kicking  up  the  dust !"  he  shouted, 
louder. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  !"  said  Cousin  Ola,  and 
lifted  his  feet  high  in  air  at  every  step.  Not  for 
all  the  world  would  he  do  anything  to  annoy  his 
brother;  he  had  too  much  on  his  conscience  al- 
ready. 

Was  he  not  at  this  very  moment  thinking  of  her 
whom  he  knew  that  his  brother  loved  ?  And  was 
it  not  sinful  of  him  to  be  unable  to  conquer  a  pas- 
sion which,  besides  being  a  wrong  towards  his  own 
brother,  was  so  utterly  hopeless  ? 

Cousin  Ola  took  himself  sternly  to  task ;  and 
while  he  kept  to  the  other  side  of  the  way,  so  as  not 
to  make  a  dust,  he  tried  with  all  his  might  to  think 
of  the  most  indifferent  things.  But  however  far 
away  his  thoughts  might  start,  they  always  returned 


58  TALES  OF  TWO  COUNTRIES. 

by  the  strangest  short-cuts  to  the  forbidden  point, 
and  began  once  more  to  flutter  around  it,  like  moths 
around  a  candle. 

The  brothers,  who  were  paying  a  holiday  visit  to 
their  uncle,  the  Pastor,  were  now  on  their  way  to 
the  Sheriff's  house,  where  there  was  to  be  a  dan- 
cing-party for  young  people.  There  were  many  stu- 
dents paying  visits  in  the  neighborhood,  so  that 
these  parties  passed  like  an  epidemic  from  house 
to  house. 

Cousin  Hans  was  thus  in  his  very  element ;  he 
sang,  he  danced,  he  was  entertaining  from  morning 
to  night;  and  if  his  tone  had  been  a  little  sharp 
when  he  declared  that  Ola  was  kicking  up  the  dust, 
it  was  really  because  of  his  annoyance  at  being  un- 
able, by  any  means,  to  screw  his  brother  up  to  the 
same  pitch  of  hilarity. 

We  already  know  what  was  oppressing  Ola.  But 
even  under  ordinary  circumstances  he  was  more 
quiet  and  retiring  than  his  brother.  He  danced 
"  like  a  pair  of  nut-crackers,"  said  Hans ;  he  could 
not  sing  at  all  (Cousin  Hans  even  declared  that 
his  speaking  voice  was  monotonous  and  uns)rmpa- 
thetic) ;  and,  in  addition  to  all  this,  he  was  rather 
absent  and  ill-at-ease  in  the  society  of  ladies. 

As  they  approached  the  Sheriff's  house,  they 
heard  a  carriage  behind  them. 

"  That's  the  Doctor's  people,"  said  Hans,  placing 
himself  in  position  for  bowing ;  for  the  beloved  one 
was  the  daughter  of  the  district  physician. 


"hope's   clad    in   APRIL   GREEN."  59 

"  Oh,  how  lovely  she  is  —  in  light  pink !"  said 
Cousin  Hans. 

Cousin  Ola  saw  at  once  that  the  beloved  one  was 
in  light  green ;  but  he  dared  not  say  a  word  lest  he 
should  betray  himself  by  his  voice,  for  his  heart 
was  in  his  throat. 

The  carriage  passed  at  full  speed;  the  young 
men  bowed,  and  the  old  Doctor  cried  out,  "  Come 
along !" 

"  Why,  I  declare,  that  was  she  in  light  green !" 
said  Cousin  Hans ;  he  had  barely  had  time  to 
transfer  his  burning  glance  from  the  light -pink 
frock  to  the  light-green.  "  But  wasn't  she  lovely, 
Ola  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  answered  Ola  with  an  effort. 

"  What  a  cross-grained  being  you  are !"  exclaimed 
Hans,  indignantly.  "  But  even  if  you're  devoid  of 
all  sense  for  female  beauty,  I  think  you  might  at 
least  show  more  interest  in  —  in  your  brother's 
future  wife." 

"  If  you  only  knew  how  she  interests  me,"  thought 
the  nefarious  Ola,  hanging  his  head. 

But  meanwhile  this  delightful  meeting  had  thrown 
Hans  into  an  ecstatic  mood  of  amorous  bliss;  he 
swung  his  stick,  snapped  his  fingers,  and  sang  at 
the  pitch  of  his  voice. 

As  he  thought  of  the  fair  one  in  the  light-green 
frock — fresh  as  spring,  airy  as  a  butterfly,  he  called 
it — the  refrain  of  an  old  ditty  rose  to  his  lips,  and 
he  sang  it  with  great  enjoyment : 


6o  TALES   OF  TWO  COUNTRIES. 

"  Hope's  clad  in  April  green — 

Trommelommelom,  trommelommelom, 
Tender  it's  vernal  sheen — 

Trommelommelom,  trommelommelom. " 

This  verse  seemed  to  him  eminently  suited  to  the 
situation,  and  he  repeated  it  over  and  over  again — 
now  in  the  waltz-time  of  the  old  melody,  now  as  a 
march,  and  again  as  a  serenade — now  in  loud,  ju- 
bilant tones,  and  then  half  whispering,  as  if  he  were 
confiding  his  love  and  his  hope  to  the  moon  and 
the  silent  groves. 

Cousin  Ola  was  almost  sick ;  for,  great  as  was 
his  respect  for  his  brother's  singing,  he  became  at 
last  so  dog-tired  of  this  April-green  hope  and  this 
eternal  "Trommelommelom"  that  it  was  a  great 
relief  to  him  when  they  at  last  arrived  at  the  Sher- 
iff's. 

The  afternoon  passed  as  it  always  does  on  such 
occasions;  they  all  enjoyed  themselves  mightily. 
For  most  of  them  were  in  love,  and  those  who  were 
not  found  almost  a  greater  pleasure  in  keeping  an 
eye  upon  those  who  were. 

Some  one  proposed  a  game  of  "  La  Grace  "  in 
the  garden.  Cousin  Hans  rushed  nimbly  about 
and  played  a  thousand  pranks,  threw  the  game  into 
confusion,  and  paid  his  partner  all  sorts  of  atten- 
tions. 

Cousin  Ola  stood  at  his  post  and  gave  his  whole 
mind  to  his  task ;  he  caught  the  ring  and  sent  it  off 
again  with  never-failing  precision.    Ola  would  have 


"hope's   clad   in   APRIL   GREEN."  6l 

enjoyed  himself,  too,  if  only  his  conscience  had  not 
so  bitterly  upbraided  him  for  his  nefarious  love  for 
his  brother's  "  future  wife." 

When  the  evening  began  to  grow  cool  the  party 
went  in-doors,  and  the  dancing  began. 

Ola  did  not  dance  much  at  any  time,  but  to-day  he 
was  not  at  all  in  the  humor.  He  occupied  himself 
in  observing  Hans,  who  spent  the  whole  evening  in 
worshipping  his  lady-love.  A  spasm  shot  through 
Ola's  heart  when  he  saw  the  light-green  frock  whirl 
away  in  his  brother's  arms,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  they  danced  every  dance  together. 

At  last  came  the  time  for  breaking  up.  Most  of 
the  older  folks  had  already  taken  their  departure 
in  their  respective  carriages,  the  young  people  hav- 
ing resolved  to  see  each  other  home  in  the  delicious 
moonlight. 

But  when  the  last  galop  was  over,  the  hostess 
would  not  hear  of  the  young  ladies  going  right  out 
into  the  evening  air,  while  they  were  still  warm 
with  dancing.  She  therefore  decreed  half  an  hour 
for  cooling  down,  and,  to  occupy  this  time  in  the 
pleasantest  manner,  she  begged  Cousin  Hans  to 
sing  a  little  song. 

He  was  ready  at  once ;  he  was  not  one  of  those 
foolish  people  who  require  pressing ;  he  knew  quite 
well  the  value  of  his  talent. 

There  was,  however,  this  peculiarity  about  Hans's 
singing,  or  rather  about  its  reception,  that  opinion 
was  more  than  usually  divided  as  to  its  merits.    By 


62  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

three  persons  in  the  world  his  execution  was  ad- 
mired as  something  incomparable.  These  three 
persons  were,  first,  Cousin  Ola,  then  Aunt  Maren, 
and  lastly  Cousin  Hans  himself.  Then  there  was 
a  large  part}'  which  thought  it  great  fun  to  hear 
Cousin  Hans  sing.  "He  always  makes  something 
out  of  it."  But  lastly  there  came  a  few  evil -dis- 
posed people  who  asserted  that  he  could  neither 
sing  nor  play. 

It  was  with  respect  to  the  latter  point,  the  ac- 
companiment, that  Cousin  Ola  always  cherished  a 
secret  reproach  against  his  brother — the  only  shad- 
ow upon  his  admiration  for  him. 

He  knew  how  much  labor  it  had  cost  both  Hans 
himself  and  his  sisters  to  get  him  drilled  in  these 
accompaniments,  especially  in  the  three  minor 
chords  with  which  he  always  finished  up,  and  which 
he  practised  beforehand  every  time  he  went  to  a 
party. 

So,  when  he  saw  his  brother  seated  at  the  piano, 
letting  his  fingers  run  lightly  and  carelessly  over 
the  key-board,  and  then  looking  up  to  the  ceiling 
and  muttering,  "  What  key  is  it  in  again  ?"  as  if  he 
were  searching  for  the  right  one,  a  shiver  always 
ran  through  Cousin  Ola.  For  he  knew  that  Hans 
had  mastered  three  accompaniments,  and  no  more 
—one  minor  and  two  major. 

And  when  the  singer,  before  rising  from  the 
piano,  threw  in  these  three  carefully-practised  mi- 
nor chords  so  lightly,  and  with  such  an  impromptu 


"hope's  clad   in   APRIL   GREEN."  63 

air,  as  if  his  fingers  had  instinctively  chanced  upon 
them,  then  Ola  shook  his  head  and  said  to  himself, 
"  This  is  not  quite  straightforward  of  Hans." 

In  the  mean  time  his  brother  sang  away  at  his  rich 
repertory.  Schumann  and  Kierulf  were  his  favor- 
ites, so  he  performed  ^^Du  bist  die  Ruh,^'  '■'■My  loved 
one,  lam  prison! d,^^  ^^Jch  grolle  nicht"  '■'■Die  alien  bosen 
Lieder,''  "/  lay  my  all,  love,  at  thy  feet"  "Aus  meinen 
grossen  Schmerzen  macK  ich  die  kleinen  Lieder  " — all 
with  the  same  calm  superiority,  and  that  light,  half- 
sportive  accompaniment.  The  only  thing  that  gave 
him  a  little  trouble  was  that  fatal  point,  "Ich  legt' 
auch  meifie  Liebe,  Und  meinen  Schmerz  hinein;"  but 
even  of  this  he  made  something. 

Then  Ola,  who  knew  to  a  nicety  the  limits  of  his 
brother's  musical  accomplishment,  noticed  that  he 
was  leaving  the  beaten  track,  and  beginning  to 
wander  among  the  keys;  and  presently  he  was 
horrified  to  find  that  Hans  was  groping  after  that 
unhappy  "  Hope's  clad  in  April  green."  But  fort- 
unately he  could  not  hit  upon  it,  so  he  confined 
himself  to  humming  the  song  half  aloud,  while  he 
threw  in  the  three  famous  minor  chords. 

"  Now  we're  quite  cool  again,"  cried  the  fair  one 
in  light  green,  hastily. 

There  was  a  general  burst  of  laughter  at  her 
eagerness  to  get  away,  and  she  was  quite  crimson 
when  she  said  good-night. 

Cousin  Ola,  who  was  standing  near  the  hostess, 
also  took  his  leave.     Cousin  Hans,  on  the  other 


64  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

hand,  was  detained  by  the  Sheriff,  who  was  anxious 
to  learn  under  what  teachers  he  had  studied  music ; 
and  that  took  time. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Ola  and  the  fair  one  in 
the  light  green  passed  out  into  the  passage  at  the 
same  time.  There  the  young  folks  were  crowding 
round  the  hat-pegs,  some  to  find  their  own  wraps, 
some  to  take  down  other  people's. 

"  I  suppose  it's  no  good  trying  to  push  our  way 
forward,"  said  the  fair  one. 

Ola's  windpipe  contracted  in  such  a  vexatious 
way  that  he  only  succeeded  in  uttering  a  meaning- 
less sound.  They  stood  close  to  each  other  in  the 
crush,  and  Ola  would  gladly  have  given  a  finger  to 
be  able  to  say  something  pleasant  to  her,  or  at  least 
something  rational ;  but  he  found  it  quite  impos- 
sible. 

"Of  course  you've  enjoyed  the  evening?"  said 
she,  in  a  friendly  tone. 

Cousin  Ola  thought  of  the  pitiful  part  he  had  been 
playing  all  evening ;  his  unsociableness  weighed  so 
much  upon  his  mind  that  he  answered — the  very 
stupidest  thing  he  could  have  answered,  he  thought, 
the  moment  the  words  were  out  of  his  lips — "  I'm 
so  sorry  that  I  can't  sing." 

"  I  suppose  it's  a  family  failing,"  answered  the 
fair  one,  with  a  rapid  glance. 

"  N — n — no,"  said  Ola,  exceedingly  put  out,  "  my 
brother  sings  capitally." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  she  said,  drily. 


"hope's   clad   in   APRIL  GREEN."  65 

This  was  the  most  astounding  thing  that  had  ever 
happened  to  Ola:  that  there  could  be  more  than 
one  opinion  about  his  brother's  singing,  and  that 
she,  his  "  future  wife,"  did  not  seem  to  admire  it ! 
And  yet  it  was  not  quite  unpleasant  to  him  to  hear  it. 

Again  there  was  a  silence,  which  Ola  sought  in 
vain  to  break. 

"  Don't  you  care  for  dancing  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Not  with  every  one,"  he  blurted  out. 

She  laughed  :  "  No,  no  ;  but  gentlemen  have  the 
right  to  choose." 

Now  Ola  began  to  lose  his  footing.  He  felt  like 
a  man  who  is  walking,  lost  in  thought,  through 
the  streets  on  a  winter  evening,  and  who  suddenly 
discovers  that  he  has  got  upon  a  patch  of  slippery 
ice.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  keep  up  and 
go  ahead ;  so,  with  the  courage  of  despair,  he  said : 
"  If  I  knew — or  dared  to  hope  —  that  one  of  the 
ladies — no — that  the  lady  I  wanted  to  dance  with — 
that  she  would  care  to — hm — that  she  would  dance 
with  me,  then — then — "  he  could  get  no  further, 
and  after  saying  "  then  "  two  or  three  times  over, 
he  came  to  a  stand-still. 

"  You  could  ask  her,"  said  the  fair  one. 

Her  bracelet  had  come  unfastened,  and  its  clasp 
was  so  stiff  that  she  had  to  bend  right  forward  and 
pinch  it  so  hard  that  she  became  quite  red  in  the 
face,  in  order  to  fasten  it  again. 

"Would   you,   for  example,   dance  with  me?" 
Ola's  brain  was  swimming. 
5 


66  TALES  OF  TVrO   COUNTRIES. 

"  Why  not  ?"  she  answered.  She  stood  pressing 
the  point  of  her  shoe  into  a  crack  in  the  floor. 

**  We're  to  have  a  party  at  the  Parsonage  on  Fri- 
day— would  you  give  me  a  dance  then  ?" 

"  With  pleasure  ;  which  would  you  like  ?"  she  an- 
swered, trying  her  best  to  assume  a  "  society  "  man- 
ner. 

"A  quadrille?"  said  Ola;  thinking:  "Quadrilles 
are  so  long." 

"  The  second  quadrille  is  disengaged,"  answered 
the  lady. 

"  And  a  galop  ?" 

"  Yes,  thank  you ;  the  first  galop,"  she  replied, 
with  a  little  hesitation. 

"  And  a  polka  ?" 

"  No,  no !  no  more,"  cried  the  fair  one,  looking  at 
Ola  with  alarm. 

At  the  same  moment,  Hans  came  rushing  along 
at  full  speed.  "  Oh,  how  lucky  I  am  to  find  you ! — 
but  in  what  company !" 

Thereupon  he  took  possession  of  the  fair  one  in 
his  amiable  fashion,  and  drew  her  away  with  him 
to  find  her  wraps  and  join  the  others. 

"  A  quadrille  and  a  galop ;  but  no  more — so  so  ! 
so  so !"  repeated  Cousin  Ola.  He  stood  as  though 
rooted  to  the  spot.  At  last  he  became  aware  that 
he  was  alone.  He  hastily  seized  a  hat,  slunk  out 
by  the  back  way,  sneaked  through  the  garden,  and 
clambered  with  great  difficulty  over  the  garden 
fence,  not  far  from  the  gate  which  stood  ajar. 


"hope's  clad   in  APRIL  GREEN."  67 

He  struck  into  the  first  foot-path  through  the 
fields,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  the  Parsonage  chimneys. 
He  was  vaguely  conscious  that  he  was  getting  wet 
up  to  the  knees  in  the  long  grass ;  but  on  the  other 
hand,  he  was  not  in  the  least  aware  that  the  Sheriff's 
old  uniform  cap,  which  he  had  had  the  luck  to 
snatch  up  in  his  haste,  was  waggling  about  upon 
his  head,  until  at  last  it  came  to  rest  when  the  long 
peak  slipped  down  over  his  ear. 

'*  A  quadrille  and  a  galop ;  but  no  more — so  so  ! 
so  so ! — " 

— It  was  pretty  well  on  in  the  night  when  Hans 
approached  the  Parsonage.  He  had  seen  the  ladies 
of  the  Doctor's  party  home,  and  was  now  making 
up  the  accounts  of  the  day  as  he  went  along. 

"  She's  a  little  shy ;  but  on  the  whole  I  don't  dis- 
like  that." 

When  he  left  the  road  at  the  Parsonage  garden, 
he  said,  "  She's  dreadfully  shy — almost  more  than 
I  care  for." 

But  as  he  crossed  the  farm-yard,  he  vowed  that 
coy  and  capricious  girls  were  the  most  intolerable 
creatures  he  knew.  The  thing  was  that  he  did  not 
feel  at  all  satisfied  with  the  upshot  of  the  day.  Not 
that  he  for  a  moment  doubted  that  she  loved  him ; 
but,  just  on  that  account,  he  thought  her  coldness 
and  reserve  doubly  annoying.  She  had  never  once 
thrown  the  ring  to  him  ;  she  had  never  once  singled 
him  out  in  the  cotillion ;  and  on  the  way  home  she 
had  talked  to  every  one  but  him.     But  he  would 


68  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

adopt  a  different  policy  the  next  time ;  she  should 
soon  come  to  repent  that  day. 

He  slipped  quietly  into  the  house,  so  that  his 
uncle  might  not  hear  how  late  he  was.  In  order  to 
reach  his  own  and  his  brother's  bedroom  he  had  to 
pass  through  a  long  attic.  A  window  in  this  attic 
was  used  by  the  young  men  as  a  door  through  which 
to  reach  a  sort  of  balcony,  formed  by  the  canopy 
over  the  steps  leading  into  the  garden. 

Cousin  Hans  noticed  that  this  window  was  stand- 
ing open ;  and  out  upon  the  balcony,  in  the  clear 
moonlight,  he  saw  his  brother's  figure. 

Ola  still  wore  his  white  dancing-gloves ;  he  held 
on  to  the  railing  with  both  hands,  and  stared  the 
moon  straight  in  the  face. 

Cousin  Hans  could  not  understand  what  his 
brother  was  doing  out  there  at  that  time  of  night . 
and  least  of  all  could  he  understand  what  had  in- 
duced  him  to  put  a  flower-pot  on  his  head. 

"  He  must  be  drunk,"  thought  Hans,  approaching 
him  warily. 

Then  he  heard  his  brother  muttering  something 
about  a  quadrille  and  a  galop  ;  after  which  he  began 
to  make  some  strange  motions  with  his  hands. 

Cousin  Hans  received  the  impression  that  he  was 
trying  to  snap  his  fingers ;  and  presently  Ola  said, 
slowly,  and  clearly,  in  his  monotonous  and  unsym- 
pathetic speaking  voice :  "  Hope's  clad  in  April 
green — trommelommelom,  trommelommelom ;"  you 
see,  poor  fellow,  he  could  not  sing. 


AT  THE  FAIR. 


AT  THE  FAIR. 

It  was  by  the  merest  chance  that  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Tousseau  came  to  Saint-Germain-en-Laye 
in  the  early  days  of  September. 

Four  weeks  ago  they  had  been  married  in  Lyons, 
which  was  their  home  j  but  where  they  had  passed 
these  four  weeks  they  really  could  not  have  told 
you.  The  time  had  gone  hop-skip-and-jump ;  a 
couple  of  days  had  entirely  slipped  out  of  their 
reckoning,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  they  remembered 
a  little  summer-house  at  Fontainebleau,  where  they 
had  rested  one  evening,  as  clearly  as  if  they  had 
passed  half  their  lives  there. 

Paris  was,  strictly  speaking,  the  goal  of  their 
wedding-journey,  and  there  they  established  them- 
selves in  a  comfortable  little  hbtel  garni.  But  the 
city  was  sultry  and  they  could  not  rest ;  so  they 
rambled  about  among  the  small  towns  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  found  themselves,  one  Sunday  at 
noon,  in  Saint  -  Germain. 

"  Monsieur  and  Madame  have  doubtless  come  to 
take  part  in  the  fSte?"  said  the  plump  little  land. 


72  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

lady  of  the  Hotel  Henri  Quatre,  as  she  ushered  her 
guests  up  the  steps. 

The  fete  ?  They  knew  of  no  fete  in  the  world 
except  their  own  wedded  happiness ;  but  they  did 
not  say  so  to  the  landlady. 

They  soon  learned  that  they  had  been  lucky 
enough  to  drop  into  the  very  midst  of  the  great  and 
celebrated  fair  which  is  held  every  year,  on  the 
first  Sunday  of  September,  in  the  Forest  of  Saint- 
Germain. 

The  young  couple  were  highly  delighted  with 
their  good  hap.  It  seemed  as  though  Fortune  fol- 
lowed at  their  heels,  or  rather  ran  ahead  of  them, 
to  arrange  surprises.  After  a  delicious  tete-k-tete 
dinner  behind  one  of  the  clipped  yew  trees  in  the 
quaint  garden,  they  took  a  carriage  and  drove  off  to 
the  forest. 

In  the  hotel  garden,  beside  the  little  fountain  in 
the  middle  of  the  lawn,  sat  a  ragged  condor  which 
the  landlord  had  bought  to  amuse  his  guests.  It 
was  attached  to  its  perch  by  a  good  strong  rope. 
But  when  the  sun  shone  upon  it  with  real  warmth, 
it  fell  a-thinking  of  the  snow-peaks  of  Peru,  of 
mighty  wing-strokes  over  the  deep  valleys  —  and 
then  it  forgot  the  rope. 

Two  vigorous  strokes  with  its  pinions  would 
bring  the  rope  up  taut,  and  it  would  fall  back  upon 
the  sward.  There  it  would  lie  by  the  hour,  then 
shake  itself  and  clamber  up  to  its  little  perch  again. 

When  it  turned  its  head  to  watch  the  happy  pair, 


AT   THE   FAIR.  73 

Madame  Tousseau  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  at  its 
melancholy  mien. 

The  afternoon  sun  glimmered  through  the  dense 
foliage  of  the  interminable  straight-ruled  avenue 
that  skirts  the  terrace.  The  young  wife's  veil  flut- 
tered aloft  as  they  sped  through  the  air,  and  wound 
itself  right  round  Monsieur's  head.  It  took  a  long 
time  to  put  it  in  order  again,  and  Madame's  hat  had 
to  be  adjusted  ever  so  often.  Then  came  the  re- 
lighting of  Monsieur's  cigar,  and  that,  too,  was  quite 
a  business  ;  for  Madame's  fan  would  always  give 
a  suspicious  little  flirt  every  time  the  match  was 
lighted ;  then  a  penalty  had  to  be  paid,  and  that, 
again,  took  time. 

The  aristocratic  English  family  which  was  pass- 
ing the  summer  at  Saint-Germain  was  disturbed  in 
its  regulation  walk  by  the  passing  of  the  gay  little 
equipage.  They  raised  their  correct  gray  or  blue 
eyes ;  there  was  neither  contempt  nor  annoyance 
in  their  look — only  the  faintest  shade  of  surprise. 
But  the  condor  followed  the  carriage  with  its  eyes, 
until  it  became  a  mere  black  speck  at  the  vanish- 
ing-point of  the  straight-ruled  interminable  avenue. 

"  La  joyeuse  fete  des  Loges  "  is  a  genuine  fair, 
with  gingerbread  cakes,  sword-swallowers,  and  waf- 
fles piping  hot.  As  the  evening  falls,  colored  lamps 
and  Chinese  lanterns  are  lighted  around  the  vener- 
able oak  which  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  fair- 
ground, and  boys  climb  about  among  its  topmost 
branches  with  maroons  and  Bengal  lights. 


74  TALES  OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

Gentlemen  of  an  inventive  turn  of  mind  go  about 
with  laiitems  on  their  hats,  on  their  sticks,  and 
wherever  they  can  possibly  hang ;  and  the  most 
inventive  of  all  strolls  around  with  his  sweetheart 
under  a  great  umbrella,  with  a  lantern  dangling 
from  each  rib. 

On  the  outskirts,  bonfires  are  lighted ;  fowls  are 
roasted  on  spits,  while  potatoes  are  cut  into  slices 
and  fried  in  dripping.  Each  aroma  seems  to  have 
its  amateurs,  for  there  are  always  people  crowding 
round;  but  the  majority  stroll  up  and  down  the 
long  street  of  booths. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  Tousseau  had  plunged 
into  all  the  fun  of  the  fair.  They  had  gambled  in 
the  most  lucrative  lottery  in  Europe,  presided  over 
by  a  man  who  excelled  in  dubious  witticisms.  They 
had  seen  the  fattest  goose  in  the  world,  and  the 
celebrated  flea,  "  Bismarch,"  who  could  drive  six 
horses.  Furthermore,  they  had  purchased  ginger- 
bread, shot  at  a  target  for  clay  pipes  and  soft-boiled 
eggs,  and  finally  had  danced  a  waltz  in  the  spacious 
dancing-tent. 

They  had  never  had  such  fun  in  their  lives. 
There  were  no  great  people  there — at  any  rate,  none 
greater  than  themselves.  As  they  did  not  know  a 
soul,  they  smiled  to  every  one,  and  when  they  met 
the  same  person  twice  they  laughed  and  nodded  to 
him. 

They  were  charmed  with  everything.  They  stood 
outside  the  great  circus  and  ballet  marquees  and 


AT   THE   FAIR.  75 

laughed  at  the  shouting  buffoons.  Scraggy  mounte- 
banks performed  on  trumpets,  and  young  girls  with 
well -floured  shoulders  smiled  alluringly  from  the 
platforms. 

Monsieur  Tousseau's  purse  was  never  at  rest ; 
but  they  did  not  grow  impatient  of  the  perpetual 
claims  upon  it.  On  the  contrary,  they  only  laughed 
at  the  gigantic  efforts  these  people  would  make  to 
earn — perhaps  half  a  franc,  or  a  few  centimes. 

Suddenly  they  encountered  a  face  they  knew. 
It  was  a  young  American  whom  they  had  met  at 
the  hotel  in  Paris. 

"Well,  Monsieur  Whitmore !"  cried  Madame  Tous- 
seau,  gayly,  "here  at  last  you've  found  a  place  where 
you  can't  possibly  help  enjoying  yourself." 

"  For  my  part,"  answered  the  American,  slowly, 
"I  find  no  enjoyment  in  seeing  the  people  who 
haven't  money  making  fools  of  themselves  to  please 
the  people  who  have." 

"Oh,  you're  incorrigible!"  laughed  the  young 
wife.  "But  I  must  compliment  you  on  the  excel- 
lent French  you  are  speaking  to-day." 

After  exchanging  a  few  more  words,  they  lost 
each  other  in  the  crowd ;  Mr.  Whitmore  was  going 
back  to  Paris  immediately. 

Madame  Tousseau's  compliment  was  quite  sin- 
cere. As  a  rule  the  grave  American  talked  deplor- 
able French,  but  the  atiswer  he  had  made  to  Ma- 
dame was  almost  correct.  It  seemed  as  though  it 
had  been  well  thought  out  in  advance — as  though 


76  TALES   OF   TWO  COUNTRIES. 

a  whole  series  of  impressions  had  condensed  them- 
selves into  these  words.  Perhaps  that  was  why 
his  answer  sank  so  deep  into  the  minds  of  Mon- 
sieur and  Madame  Tousseau. 

Neither  of  them  thought  it  a  particularly  brilliant 
remark ;  on  the  contrary,  they  agreed  that  it  must 
be  miserable  to  take  so  gloomy  a  view  of  things. 
But,  nevertheless,  his  words  left  something  rankling. 
They  could  not  laugh  so  lightly  as  before,  Madame 
felt  tired,  and  they  began  to  think  of  getting  home- 
wards. 

Just  as  they  turned  to  go  down  the  long  street 
of  booths  in  order  to  find  their  carriage,  they  met 
a  noisy  crew  coming  upward. 

"  Let  us  take  the  other  way,"  said  Monsieur. 

They  passed  between  two  booths,  and  emerged 
at  the  back  of  one  of  the  rows.  They  stumbled 
over  the  tree -roots  before  their  eyes  got  used  to 
the  uncertain  light  which  fell  in  patches  between 
the  tents.  A  dog,  which  lay  gnawing  at  something 
or  other,  rose  with  a  snarl,  and  dragged  its  prey 
further  into  the  darkness,  among  the  trees. 

On  this  side  the  booths  were  made  up  of  old 
sails  and  all  sorts  of  strange  draperies.  Here  and 
there  light  shone  through  the  openings,  and  at 
one  place  Madame  distinguished  a  face  she  knew. 

It  was  the  man  who  had  sold  her  that  incom- 
parable gingerbread — Monsieur  had  half  of  it  still 
in  his  pocket. 

But  it  was  curious  to  see  the  gingerbread-man 


AT  THE   FAIR.  77 

from  this  side.  Here  was  something  quite  differ- 
ent from  the  smiling  obsequiousness  which  had 
said  so  many  pretty  things  to  her  pretty  face,  and 
had  been  so  unwearied  in  belauding  the  ginger- 
bread— which  really  was  excellent. 

Now  he  sat  crouched  together,  eating  some  in- 
describable mess  out  of  a  checked  pocket-handker- 
chief— eagerly,  greedily,  without  looking  up. 

Farther  down  they  heard  a  muffled  conversation. 
Madame  was  bent  upon  peeping  in ;  Monsieur  ob- 
jected, but  he  had  to  give  in. 

An  old  mountebank  sat  counting  a  handful  of 
coppers,  grumbling  and  growling  the  while,  A 
young  girl  stood  before  him,  shivering  and  pleading 
for  pardon ;  she  was  wrapped  in  a  long  water-proof. 

The  man  swore,  and  stamped  on  the  ground. 
Then  she  threw  off  the  water-proof  and  stood  half 
naked  in  a  sort  of  ballet  costume.  Without  saying 
a  word,  and  without  smoothing  her  hair  or  preening 
her  finery,  she  mounted  the  little  steps  that  led  to 
the  stage. 

At  that  moment  she  turned  and  looked  at  her 
father.  Her  face  had  already  put  on  the  ballet- 
simper,  but  it  now  gave  place  to  a  quite  different 
expression.  The  mouth  remained  fixed,  but  the 
eyes  tried,  for  a  second,  to  send  him  a  beseech- 
ing smile.  The  mountebank  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, and  held  out  his  hand  with  the  coppers ;  the 
girl  turned,  ducked  under  the  curtain,  and  was  re- 
ceived with  shouts  and  applause. 


78  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

Beside  the  great  oak-tree  the  lottery  man  was 
holding  forth  as  fluently  as  ever.  His  witticisms, 
as  the  darkness  thickened,  grew  less  and  less  dubi- 
ous. There  was  a  different  ring,  too,  in  the  laugh- 
ter of  the  crowd ;  the  men  were  noisier,  the  mounte- 
banks leaner,  the  women  more  brazen,  the  music 
falser — so  it  seemed,  at  least,  to  Madame  and  Mon- 
sieur. 

As  they  passed  the  dancing-tent  the  racket  of  a 
quadrille  reached  their  ears.  "  Great  heavens  ! — 
was  it  really  there  that  we  danced  ?"  said  Madame, 
and  nestled  closer  to  her  husband. 

They  made  their  way  through  the  rout  as  quickly 
as  they  could ;  they  would  soon  reach  their  car- 
riage, it  was  just  beyond  the  circus-marquee.  It 
would  be  nice  to  rest  and  escape  from  all  this 
hubbub. 

The  platform  in  front  of  the  circus-marquee  was 
now  vacant.  Inside,  in  the  dim  and  stifling  ro- 
tunda, the  performance  was  in  full  swing. 

Only  the  old  woman  who  sold  the  tickets  sat 
asleep  at  her  desk.  And  a  little  way  off,  in  the 
light  of  her  lamp,  stood  a  tiny  boy. 

He  was  dressed  in  tights,  green  on  one  side,  red 
on  the  other ;  on  his  head  he  had  a  fool's  cap  with 
horns. 

Close  up  to  the  platform  stood  a  woman  wrapped 
in  a  black  shawl.  She  seemed  to  be  talking  to  the 
•boy. 

He  advanced  his  red  leg  and  his  green  leg  by 


AT  THE   FAIR.  79 

turns,  and  drew  them  back  again.  At  last  he  took 
three  steps  forward  on  his  meagre  shanks  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  the  woman. 

She  took  what  he  had  in  it,  and  disappeared  into 
the  darkness. 

He  stood  motionless  for  a  moment,  then  he  mut- 
tered some  words  and  burst  into  tears. 

Presently  he  stopped,  and  said :  "  Maman  m'a 
pris  mon  sou !" — and  fell  to  weeping  again. 

He  dried  his  eyes  and  left  off  for  a  time,  but  as 
often  as  he  repeated  to  himself  his  sad  little  history 
— how  his  mother  had  taken  his  sou  from  him — he 
was  seized  with  another  and  a  bitterer  fit  of  weeping. 

He  stooped  and  buried  his  face  in  the  curtain. 
The  stiff,  wrinkly  oil-painting  must  be  hard  and 
cold  to  cry  into.  The  little  body  shrank  together ; 
he  drew  his  green  leg  close  up  under  him,  and  stood 
like  a  stork  upon  the  red  one. 

No  one  on  the  other  side  of  the  curtain  must 
hear  that  he  was  crying.  Therefore  he  did  not 
sob  like  a  child,  but  fought  as  a  man  fights  against 
a  broken  heart. 

When  the  attack  was  over,  he  blew  his  nose  with 
his  fingers,  and  wiped  them  on  his  tights.  With 
the  dirty  curtain  he  had  dabbled  the  tears  all  over 
his  face  until  it  was  streaked  with  black ;  and  in 
this  guise,  and  dry- eyed,  he  gazed  for  a  moment 
over  the  fair. 

Then :  ''  Maman  m'a  pris  mon  sou  " — and  he  set 
oS  again. 


8o  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES, 

The  backsweep  of  the  wave  leaves  the  beach  dry 
for  an  instant  while  the  next  wave  is  gathering. 
Thus  sorrow  swept  in  heavy  surges  over  the  little 
childish  heart. 

His  dress  was  so  ludicrous,  his  body  so  meagre, 
his  weeping  was  so  wofully  bitter,  and  his  suffer- 
ing so  great  and  man-like — 

— But  at  home  at  the  hotel — the  Pavilion  Henri 
Quatre,  where  the  Queens  of  France  condescended 
to  be  brought  to  bed — there  the  condor  sat  and 
slept  upon  its  perch. 

And  it  dreamed  its  dream — its  only  dream — its 
dream  about  the  snow-peaks  of  Peru  and  the  mighty 
wing  -  strokes  over  the  deep  valleys ;  and  then  it 
forgot  its  rope. 

It  uplifted  its  ragged  pinions  vigorously,  and 
struck  two  sturdy  strokes.  Then  the  rope  drew  taut, 
and  it  fell  back  where  it  was  wont  to  fall  —  it 
wrenched  its  claw,  and  the  dream  vanished. — 

— Next  morning  the  aristocratic  English  family 
was  much  concerned,  and  the  landlord  himself  felt 
annoyed,  for  the  condor  lay  dead  upon  the  grass. 


TWO   FRIENDS. 


TWO  FRIENDS. 

No  one  could  understand  where  he  got  his  money 
from.  But  the  person  who  marvelled  most  at  the 
dashing  and  luxurious  life  led  by  Alphonse  was  his 
quondam  friend  and  partner. 

After  they  dissolved  partnership,  most  of  the  cus- 
tom and  the  best  connection  passed  by  degrees 
into  Charles's  hands.  This  was  not  because  he  in 
any  way  sought  to  run  counter  to  his  former  part- 
ner ;  on  the  contrary,  it  arose  simply  from  the  fact 
that  Charles  was  the  more  capable  man  of  the  two. 
And  as  Alphonse  had  now  to  work  on  his  own  ac- 
count, it  was  soon  clear  to  any  one  who  observed 
him  closely,  that  in  spite  of  his  promptitude,  his 
amiability  and  his  prepossessing  appearance,  he 
was  not  fitted  to  be  at  the  head  of  an  independent 
business. 

And  there  was  one  person  who  did  observe  him 
closely.  Charles  followed  him  step  by  step  with 
his  sharp  eyes ;  every  blunder,  every  extravagance, 
every  loss — he  knew  all  to  a  nicety,  and  he  won- 
dered that  Alphonse  could  keep  going  so  long. 


84  TALES   OF   TWO  COUNTRIES. 

— They  had  as  good  as  grown  up  together.  Their 
mothers  were  cousins ;  the  families  had  lived  near 
each  other  in  the  same  street;  and  in  a  city  like 
Paris  proximity  is  as  important  as  relationship  in 
promoting  close  intercourse.  Moreover,  the  boys 
went  to  the  same  school. 

Thenceforth,  as  they  grew  up  to  manhood,  they 
were  inseparable.  Mutual  adaptation  overcame  the 
great  differences  which  originally  marked  their 
characters,  until  at  last  their  idiosyncrasies  fitted 
into  each  other  like  the  artfully-carved  pieces  of 
wood  which  compose  the  picture -puzzles  of  our 
childhood. 

The  relation  between  them  was  really  a  beauti- 
ful one,  such  as  does  not  often  arise  between  two 
young  men ;  for  they  did  not  understand  friendship 
as  binding  the  one  to  bear  everything  at  the  hands 
of  the  other,  but  seemed  rather  to  vie  with  each 
other  in  mutual  considerateness. 

If,  however,  Alphonse  in  his  relation  to  Charles 
showed  any  high  degree  of  considerateness,  he  him- 
self was  ignorant  of  it ;  and  if  any  one  had  told  him 
of  it  he  would  doubtless  have  laughed  loudly  at 
such  a  mistaken  compliment. 

For  as  life  on  the  whole  appeared  to  him  very 
simple  and  straightforward,  the  idea  that  his  friend- 
ship should  in  any  way  fetter  him  was  the  last  thing 
that  could  enter  his  head.  That  Charles  was  his 
best  friend  seemed  to  him  as  entirely  natural  as 
that  he  himself  danced  best,  rode  best,  was  the  best 


TWO    FRIENDS.  85 

shot,  and  that  the  whole  world  was  ordered  entirely 
to  his  mind. 

Alphonse  was  in  the  highest  degree  a  spoilt  child 
of  fortune  ;  he  acquired  everything  without  effort ; 
existence  fitted  him  like  an  elegant  dress,  and  he 
wore  it  with  such  unconstrained  amiability  that  peo- 
ple forgot  to  envy  him. 

And  then  he  was  so  handsome.  He  was  tall  and 
slim,  with  brown  hair  and  big  open  eyes ;  his  com- 
plexion was  clear  and  smooth,  and  his  teeth  shone 
when  he  laughed.  He  was  quite  conscious  of  his 
beauty,  but,  as  everybody  had  petted  him  from  his 
earliest  days,  his  vanity  was  of  a  cheerful,  good- 
natured  sort,  which,  after  all,  was  not  so  offensive. 
He  was  exceedingly  fond  of  his  friend.  He  amused 
himself  and  sometimes  others  by  teasing  him  and 
making  fun  of  him ;  but  he  knew  Charles's  face  so 
thoroughly  that  he  saw  at  once  when  the  jest  was 
going  too  far.  Then  he  would  resume  his  natural, 
kindly  tone,  until  he  made  the  serious  and  some- 
what melancholy  Charles  laugh  till  he  was  ill. 

From  his  boyhood  Charles  had  admired  Alphonse 
beyond  measure.  He  himself  was  small  and  insig- 
nificant, quiet  and  shy.  His  friend's  brilliant  qual- 
ities cast  a  lustre  over  him  as  well,  and  gave  a  cer- 
tain impetus  to  his  life. 

His  mother  often  said  :  "  This  friendship  between 
the  boys  is  a  real  blessing  for  my  poor  Charles,  for 
without  it  he  would  certainly  have  been  a  melan- 
choly creature." 


86  TALES   OF  TWO   COUNTRIES. 

When  Alphonse  was  on  all  occasions  preferred  to 
him,  Charles  rejoiced  ;  he  was  proud  of  his  friend. 
He  wrote  his  exercises,  prompted  him  at  examina- 
tion, pleaded  his  cause  with  the  masters,  and  fought 
for  him  with  the  boys. 

At  the  commercial  academy  it  was  the  same 
story.  Charles  worked  for  Alphonse,  and  Alphonse 
rewarded  him  with  his  inexhaustible  amiability  and 
unfailing  good-humor. 

When  subsequently,  as  quite  young  men,  they 
were  placed  in  the  same  banker's  office,  it  happened 
one  day  that  the  principal  said  to  Charles :  **  From 
the  first  of  May  I  will  raise  your  salary." 

"  I  thank  you,"  answered  Charles,  "  both  on  my 
own  and  on  my  friend's  behalf." 

*'  Monsieur  Alphonse's  salary  remains  unaltered," 
replied  the  chief,  and  went  on  writing. 

Charles  never  forgot  that  morning.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  been  preferred  or  distinguished 
before  his  friend.  And  it  was  his  commercial  ca- 
pacity, the  quality  which,  as  a  young  man  of  busi- 
ness, he  valued  most,  that  had  procured  him  this 
preference ;  and  it  was  the  head  of  the  firm,  the 
great  financier,  who  had  himself  accorded  him  such 
recognition. 

The  experience  was  so  strange  to  him  that  it 
seemed  like  an  injustice  to  his  friend.  He  told 
Alphonse  nothing  of  the  occurrence;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  proposed  that  they  should  apply  for  two 
vacant  places  in  the  Credit  Lyonnais. 


TWO   FRIENDS.  87 

Alphonse  was  quite  willing,  for  he  loved  change, 
and  the  splendid  new  banking  establishment  on  the 
Boulevard  seemed  to  him  far  more  attractive  than 
the  dark  offices  in  the  Rue  Berg^re.  So  they  re- 
moved to  the  Credit  Lyonnais  on  the  first  of  May. 
But  as  they  were  in  the  chief's  office  taking  their 
leave,  the  old  banker  said  to  Charles,  when  Al- 
phonse had  gone  out  (Alphonse  always  took  pre- 
cedence of  Charles),  "  Sentiment  won't  do  for  a 
business  man," 

From  that  day  forward  a  change  went  on  in 
Charles.  He  not  only  worked  as  industriously  and 
conscientiously  as  before,  but  developed  such  en- 
ergy and  such  an  amazing  faculty  for  labor  as  soon 
attracted  to  him  the  attention  of  his  superiors. 
That  he  was  far  ahead  of  his  friend  in  business 
capacity  was  soon  manifest ;  but  every  time  he  re- 
ceived a  new  mark  of  recognition  he  had  a  struggle 
with  himself.  For  a  long  time,  every  advancement 
brought  with  it  a  certain  qualm  of  conscience ;  and 
yet  he  worked  on  with  restless  ardor. 

One  day  Alphonse  said,  in  his  light,  frank  way : 
"  You  are  really  a  smart  fellow,  Charlie !  You're 
getting  ahead  of  everybody,  young  and  old — not  to 
mention  me.     I'm  quite  proud  of  you !" 

Charles  felt  ashamed.  He  had  been  thinking 
that  Alphonse  must  feel  wounded  at  being  left  on 
one  side,  and  now  he  learned  that  his  friend  not 
only  did  not  grudge  him  his  advancement,  but  was 
even  proud  of  him.    By  degrees  his  conscience  was 


88  TALES   OF  TWO   COUNTRIES. 

lulled  to  rest,  and  his  solid  worth  was  more  and 
more  appreciated — 

But  if  he  was  in  reality  the  more  capable,  how 
came  it  that  he  was  so  entirely  ignored  in  society, 
while  Alphonse  remained  everybody's  darling  ?  The 
very  promotions  and  marks  of  appreciation  which 
he  had  won  for  himself  by  hard  work,  were  accorded 
him  in  a  dry,  business  manner ;  while  every  one, 
from  the  directors  to  the  messengers,  had  a  friend- 
ly word  or  a  merry  greeting  for  Alphonse. 

In  the  different  offices  and  departments  of  the 
bank  they  intrigued  to  obtain  possession  of  Mon- 
sieur Alphonse ;  for  a  breath  of  life  and  freshness 
followed  ever  in  the  wake  of  his  handsome  person 
and  joyous  nature.  Charles,  on  the  other  hand, 
had  often  remarked  that  his  colleagues  regarded 
him  as  a  dry  person,  who  thought  only  of  business 
and  of  himself. 

The  truth  was  that  he  had  a  heart  of  rare  sen- 
sitiveness, with  no  faculty  for  giving  it  expres- 
sion. 

Charles  was  one  of  those  small,  black  Frenchmen 
whose  beard  begins  right  under  the  eyes ;  his  com- 
plexion was  yellowish  and  his  hair  stiff  and  splintery. 
His  eyes  did  not  dilate  when  he  was  pleased  and 
animated,  but  they  flashed  around  and  glittered. 
When  he  laughed  the  corners  of  his  mouth  turned 
upward,  and  many  a  time,  when  his  heart  was  full 
of  joy  and  good-will,  he  had  seen  people  draw  back, 
half -frightened  by  his  forbidding  exterior.  Alphonse 


TWO   FRIENDS.  89 

alone  knew  him  so  well  that  he  never  seemed  to 
see  his  ugliness ;  every  one  else  misunderstood  him. 
He  became  suspicious,  and  retired  more  and  more 
within  himself. 

In  an  insensible  crescendo  the  thought  grew  in 
him :  Why  should  he  never  attain  anything  of  that 
which  he  most  longed  for — intimate  and  cordial  in- 
tercourse and  friendliness  which  should  answer  to 
the  warmth  pent  up  within  him  ?  Why  should  every 
one  smile  to  Alphonse  with  out  -  stretched  hands, 
while  he  must  content  himself  with  stiff  bows  and 
cold  glances ! 

Alphonse  knew  nothing  of  all  this.  He  was  joy- 
ous and  healthy,  charmed  with  life  and  content  with 
his  daily  work.  He  had  been  placed  in  the  easiest 
and  most  interesting  branch  of  the  business,  and, 
with  his  quick  brain  and  his  knack  of  making  him- 
self agreeable,  he  filled  his  place  satisfactorily. 

His  social  circle  was  very  large — every  one  set 
store  by  his  acquaintance,  and  he  was  at  least  as 
popular  among  women  as  among  men. 

For  a  time  Charles  accompanied  Alphonse  into 
society,  until  he  was  seized  by  a  misgiving  that  he 
was  invited  for  his  friend's  sake  alone,  when  he  at 
once  drew  back. 

When  Charles  proposed  that  they  should  set  up 
in  business  together,  Alphonse  had  answered  :  "  It 
is  too  good  of  you  to  choose  me.  You  could  easily 
find  a  much  better  partner." 

Charles  had  imagined  that  their  altered  relations 


90  TALES  OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

and  closer  association  in  work  would  draw  Alphonse 
out  of  the  circles  which  Charles  could  not  now  en- 
dure, and  unite  them  more  closely.  For  he  had  con- 
ceived a  vague  dread  of  losing  his  friend. 

He  did  not  himself  know,  nor  would  it  have  been 
easy  to  decide,  whether  he  was  jealous  of  all  the 
people  who  flocked  around  Alphonse  and  drew  him 
to  them,  or  whether  he  envied  his  friend's  popularity. 

— They  began  their  business  prudently  and  ener- 
getically, and  got  on  well. 

It  was  generally  held  that  each  formed  an  ad- 
mirable complement  to  the  other.  Charles  repre- 
sented the  solid,  confidence-inspiring  element,  while 
the  handsome  and  elegant  Alphonse  imparted  to 
the  firm  a  certain  lustre  which  was  far  from  being 
without  value. 

Every  one  who  came  into  the  counting-house  at 
once  remarked  his  handsome  figure,  and  thus  it 
seemed  quite  natural  that  all  should  address  them- 
selves to  him. 

Charles  meanwhile  bent  over  his  work  and  let 
Alphonse  be  spokesman.  When  Alphonse  asked 
him  about  anything,  he  answered  shortly  and  quiet- 
ly without  looking  up. 

Thus  most  people  thought  that  Charles  was  a 
confidential  clerk,  while  Alphonse  was  the  real  head 
of  the  house. 

As  Frenchmen,  they  thought  little  about  marry- 
ing, but  as  young  Parisians  they  led  a  life  into 
which  erotics  entered  largely. 


TWO    FRIENDS.  9X 

Alphonse  was  never  really  in  his  element  except 
when  in  female  society.  Then  all  his  exhilarating 
amiability  came  into  play,  and  when  he  leaned  back 
at  supper  and  held  out  his  shallow  champagne- 
glass  to  be  refilled,  he  was  as  beautiful  as  a  happy 
god. 

He  had  a  neck  of  the  kind  which  women  long  to 
caress,  and  his  soft,  half-curling  hair  looked  as  if  it 
were  negligently  arranged,  or  carefully  disarranged, 
by  a  woman's  coquettish  hand. 

Indeed,  many  slim  white  fingers  had  passed 
through  those  locks ;  for  Alphonse  had  not  only 
the  gift  of  being  loved  by  women,  but  also  the  yet 
rarer  gift  of  being  forgiven  by  them. 

When  the  friends  were  together  at  gay  supper- 
parties,  Alphonse  paid  no  particular  heed  to  Charles. 
He  kept  no  account  of  his  own  love-affairs,  far  less 
of  those  of  his  friend.  So  it  might  easily  happen 
that  a  beauty  on  whom  Charles  had  cast  a  longing 
eye  fell  into  the  hands  of  Alphonse. 

Charles  was  used  to  seeing  his  friend  preferred 
in  life ;  but  there  are  certain  things  to  which  men 
can  scarcely  accustom  themselves.  He  seldom 
went  with  Alphonse  to  his  suppers,  and  it  was  al- 
ways long  before  the  wine  and  the  general  exhilara- 
tion could  bring  him  into  a  convivial  humor. 

But  then,  when  the  champagne  and  the  bright 
eyes  had  gone  to  his  head,  he  would  often  be 
the  wildest  of  all ;  he  would  sing  loudly  with  his 
harsh  voice,  laugh  and  gesticulate  so  that  his  stiff 


92  TALES   OF  TWO   COUNTRIES. 

black  hair  fell  over  his  forehead;  and  then  the 
merry  ladies  shrank  from  him,  and  called  him  the 
"  chimney-sweep." 

— As  the  sentry  paces  up  and  down  in  the  be- 
leaguered fortress,  he  sometimes  hears  a  strange 
sound  in  the  silent  night,  as  if  something  were 
rustling  under  his  feet.  It  is  the  enemy,  who  has 
undermined  the  outworks,  and  to-night  or  to-mor- 
row night  there  will  be  a  hollow  explosion,  and 
armed  men  will  storm  in  through  the  breach. 

If  Charles  had  kept  close  watch  over  himself  he 
would  have  heard  strange  thoughts  rustling  with- 
in him.  But  he  would  not  hear — he  had  only  a 
dim  foreboding  that  some  time  there  must  come  an 
explosion. 

— And  one  day  it  came. 

It  was  already  after  business  hours ;  the  clerks 
had  all  left  the  outer  office,  and  only  the  principals 
remained  behind. 

Charles  was  busily  writing  a  letter  which  he 
wished  to  finish  before  he  left 

Alphonse  had  drawn  on  both  his  gloves  and  but- 
toned them.  Then  he  had  brushed  his  hat  until  it 
shone,  and  now  he  was  walking  up  and  down  and 
peeping  into  Charles's  letter  every  time  he  passed 
the  desk. 

They  used  to  spend  an  hour  every  day  before 
dinner  in  a  cafd  on  the  great  Boulevard,  and 
Alphonse  was  getting  impatient  for  his  newspa- 
pers. 


TWO   FRIENDS.  93 

"  Will  you  never  have  finished  that  letter  ?"  he 
said,  rather  irritably. 

Charles  was  silent  a  second  or  two,  then  he 
sprang  up  so  that  his  chair  fell  over :  "  Perhaps 
Alphonse  imagined  that  he  could  do  it  better? 
Did  he  not  know  which  of  them  was  really  the  man 
of  business  ?"  And  now  the  words  streamed  out 
with  that  incredible  rapidity  of  which  the  French 
language  is  capable  when  it  is  used  in  fiery  pas- 
sion. 

But  it  was  a  turbid  stream,  carrying  with  it  many 
ugly  expressions,  upbraidings  and  recriminations ; 
and  through  the  whole  there  sounded  something 
like  a  suppressed  sob. 

As  he  strode  up  and  down  the  room,  with  clench- 
ed hands  and  dishevelled  hair,  Charles  looked  like 
a  little  wiry -haired  terrier  barking  at  an  elegant 
Italian  greyhound.  At  last  he  seized  his  hat  and 
rushed  out. 

Alphonse  had  stood  looking  at  him  with  great 
wondering  eyes.  When  he  was  gone,  and  there  was 
once  more  silence  in  the  room,  it  seemed  as  though 
the  air  was  still  quivering  with  the  hot  words,  Al- 
phonse recalled  them  one  by  one,  as  he  stood  mo- 
tionless beside  the  desk. 

"  Did  he  not  know  which  was  the  abler  of  the 
two  ?"  Yes,  assuredly  !  he  had  never  denied  that 
Charles  was  by  far  his  superior. 

"  He  must  not  think  that  he  would  succeed  in 
winning  everything  to  himself  with   his   smooth 


94  TALES   OF  TWO   COUNTRIES. 

face."  Alphonse  was  not  conscious  of  ever  having 
deprived  his  friend  of  anything. 

*'  I  don't  care  for  your  cocottes^^  Charles  had  said. 

Could  he  really  have  been  interested  in  the  little 
Spanish  dancer?  If  Alphonse  had  only  had  the 
faintest  suspicion  of  such  a  thing  he  would  never 
have  looked  at  her.  But  that  was  nothing  to  get 
so  wild  about;  there  were  plenty  of  women  in 
Paris. 

And  at  last :  "As  sure  as  to-morrow  comes,  I  will 
dissolve  partnership !" 

Alphonse  did  not  understand  it  at  all.  He  left 
the  counting-house  and  walked  moodily  through 
the  streets  until  he  met  an  acquaintance.  That  put 
other  thoughts  into  his  head ;  but  all  day  he  had  a 
feeling  as  if  something  gloomy  and  uncomfortable 
lay  in  wait,  ready  to  seize  him  so  soon  as  he  was 
alone. 

When  he  reached  home,  late  at  night,  he  found 
a  letter  from  Charles.  He  opened  it  hastily;  but 
it  contained,  instead  of  the  apology  he  had  expect- 
ed, only  a  coldly-worded  request  to  M.  Alphonse  to 
attend  at  the  counting-house  early  the  next  morning 
"  in  order  that  the  contemplated  dissolution  of  part- 
nership might  be  effected  as  quickly  as  possible." 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  did  Alphonse  begin  to  un- 
derstand that  the  scene  in  the  counting-house  had 
been  more  than  a  passing  outburst  of  passion ;  but 
this  only  made  the  affair  more  inexplicable. 

And  the  longer  he  thought  it  over,  the  more 


TWO   FRIENDS.  95 

clearly  did  he  feel  that  Charles  had  been  unjust  to 
him.  He  had  never  been  angry  with  his  friend, 
nor  was  he  precisely  angry  even  now.  But  as  he 
repeated  to  himself  all  the  insults  Charles  had 
heaped  upon  him,  his  good-natured  heart  hardened ; 
and  the  next  morning  he  took  his  place  in  silence, 
after  a  cold  '*  Good-morning." 

Although  he  arrived  a  whole  hour  earlier  than 
usual,  he  could  see  that  Charles  had  been  working 
long  and  industriously.  There  they  sat,  each  on 
his  side  of  the  desk ;  they  spoke  only  the  most  in- 
dispensable words ;  now  and  then  a  paper  passed 
from  hand  to  hand,  but  they  never  looked  each 
other  in  the  face. 

In  this  way  they  both  worked — each  more  busily 
than  the  other — until  twelve  o'clock,  their  usual 
luncheon-time. 

This  hour  of  dejeiliur  was  the  favorite  time  of 
both.  Their  custom  was  to  have  it  served  in  their 
office,  and  when  the  old  house-keeper  announced 
that  lunch  was  ready,  they  would  both  rise  at  once, 
even  if  they  were  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence  or  of 
an  account. 

They  used  to  eat  standing  by  the  fireplace  or 
walking  up  and  down  in  the  warm,  comfortable 
office.  Alphonse  had  always  some  piquant  stories 
to  tell,  and  Charles  laughed  at  them.  These  were 
his  pleasantest  hours. 

But  that  day,  when  Madame  said  her  friendly 
^^Messieurs,  on  a  servi,^^  they  both  remained  sitting. 


96  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

She  opened  her  eyes  wide,  and  repeated  the  words 
as  she  went  out,  but  neither  moved. 

At  last  Alphonse  felt  hungry,  went  to  the  table, 
poured  out  a  glass  of  wine  and  began  to  eat  his 
cutlet.  But  as  he  stood  there  eating,  with  his  glass 
in  his  hand,  and  looked  round  the  dear  old  office 
where  they  had  spent  so  many  pleasant  hours,  and 
then  thought  that  they  were  to  lose  all  this  and 
imbitter  their  lives  for  a  whim,  a  sudden  burst  of 
passion,  the  whole  situation  appeared  to  him  so 
preposterous  that  he  almost  burst  out  laughing. 

*'  Look  here,  Charles,"  he  said,  in  the  half-earnest, 
half-joking  tone  which  always  used  to  make  Charles 
laugh,  "  it  will  really  be  too  absurd  to  advertise : 
'According  to  an  amicable  agreement,  from  such 
and  such  a  date  the  firm  of ' " 

*'  I  have  been  thinking,"  interrupted  Charles, 
quietly,  "that  we  will  put:  'According  to  mutual 
agreement.' " 

Alphonse  laughed  no  more ;  he  put  down  his 
glass,  and  the  cutlet  tasted  bitter  in  his  mouth. 

He  understood  that  friendship  was  dead  between 
them,  why  or  wherefore  he  could  not  tell ;  but  he 
thought  that  Charles  was  hard  and  unjust  to  him. 
He  was  now  stiffer  and  colder  than  the  other. 

They  worked  together  until  the  business  of  dis- 
solution was  finished ;  then  they  parted. 

A  considerable  time  passed,  and  the  two  quon- 
dam friends  worked  each  in  his  own  quarter  in  the 


TWO   FRIENDS;  97 

great  Paris.  They  met  at  the  Bourse,  but  never  did 
business  with  each  other.  Charles  never  worked 
against  Alphonse ;  he  did  not  wish  to  ruin  him  ;  he 
wished  Alphonse  to  ruin  himself. 

And  Alphonse  seemed  likely  enough  to  meet  his 
friend's  wishes  in  this  respect.  It  is  true  that  now 
and  then  he  did  a  good  stroke  of  business,  but  the 
steady  industry  he  had  learned  from  Charles  he 
soon  forgot.  He  began  to  neglect  his  office,  and 
lost  many  good  connections. 

He  had  always  had  a  taste  for  dainty  and  lux- 
urious living,  but  his  association  with  the  frugal 
Charles  had  hitherto  held  his  extravagances  in 
check.  Now,  on  the  contrary,  his  life  became  more 
and  more  dissipated.  He  made  fresh  acquaint- 
ances on  every  hand,  and  was  more  than  ever  the 
brilliant  and  popular  Monsieur  Alphonse ;  but 
Charles  kept  an  eye  on  his  growing  debts. 

He  had  Alphonse  watched  as  closely  as  possi- 
ble, and,  as  their  business  was  of  the  same  kind, 
could  form  a  pretty  good  estimate  of  the  other's 
earnings.  His  expenses  were  even  easier  to  ascer- 
tain, and  he  soon  assured  himself  of  the  fact  that 
Alphonse  was  beginning  to  run  into  debt  in  several 
quarters. 

He  cultivated  some  acquaintances  about  whom 
he  otherwise  cared  nothing,  merely  because  through 
them  he  got  an  insight  into  Alphonse's  expensive 
mode  of  life  and  rash  prodigality.  He  sought  the 
same  cafds  and  restaurants  as  Alphonse,  but  at 
7 


98  TALES   OF  TWO   COUNTRIES. 

different  times;  he  even  had  his  clothes  made  by 
the  same  tailor,  because  the  talkative  little  man 
entertained  him  with  complaints  that  Monsieur 
Alphonse  never  paid  his  bills. 

Charles  often  thought  how  easy  it  would  be  to 
buy  up  a  part  of  Alphonse's  liabilities  and  let  them 
fall  into  the  hands  of  a  grasping  usurer.  But  it 
would  be  a  great  injustice  to  suppose  that  Charles 
for  a  moment  contemplated  doing  such  a  thing 
himself.  It  was  only  an  idea  he  was  fond  of  dwell- 
ing upon ;  he  was,  as  it  were,  in  love  with  Alphonse's 
debts. 

But  things  went  slowly,  and  Charles  became  pale 
and  sallow  while  he  watched  and  waited. 

He  was  longing  for  the  time  when  the  people 
who  had  always  looked  down  upon  him  should 
have  their  eyes  opened,  and  see  how  little  the  brill- 
iant and  idolized  Alphonse  was  really  fit  for.  He 
wanted  to  see  him  humbled,  abandoned  by  his 
friends,  lonely  and  poor ;  and  then — ! 

Beyond  that  he  really  did  not  like  to  speculate ; 
for  at  this  point  feelings  stirred  within  him  which 
he  would  not  acknowledge. 

He  would  hate  his  former  friend ;  he  would  have 
revenge  for  all  the  coldness  and  neglect  which  had 
been  his  own  lot  in  life ;  and  every  time  the  least 
thought  in  defence  of  Alphonse  arose  in  his  mind 
he  pushed  it  aside,  and  said,  like  the  old  banker : 
"  Sentiment  won't  do  for  a  business  man." 

One  day  he  went  to  his  tailor's;   he  bought 


TWO   FRIENDS.  99 

more  clothes  in  these  days  than  he  absolutely 
needed. 

The  nimble  little  man  at  once  ran  to  meet  him 
with  a  roll  of  cloth :  "  See,  here  is  the  very  stuff  for 
you.  Monsieur  Alphonse  has  had  a  whole  suit 
made  of  it,  and  Monsieur  Alphonse  is  a  gentleman 
who  knows  how  to  dress." 

"  I  did  not  think  that  Monsieur  Alphonse  was 
one  of  your  favorite  customers,"  said  Charles,  rather 
taken  by  surprise. 

"Oh,  mon  Dim!"  exclaimed  the  little  tailor, 
"  you  mean  because  I  have  once  or  twice  mentioned 
that  Monsieur  Alphonse  owed  me  a  few  thousand 
francs.  It  was  very  stupid  of  me  to  speak  so. 
Monsieur  Alphonse  has  not  only  paid  me  the  trifle 
he  was  owing,  but  I  know  that  he  has  also  satisfied 
a  number  of  other  creditors.  I  have  done  ce  cher 
beau  monsmir  great  injustice,  and  I  beg  you  never 
to  give  him  a  hint  of  my  stupidity." 

Charles  was  no  longer  listening  to  the  chatter 
of  the  garrulous  tailor.  He  soon  left  the  shop, 
and  went  up  the  street  quite  absorbed  in  the  one 
thought  that  Alphonse  had  paid. 

He  thought  how  foolish  it  really  was  of  him  to 
wait  and  wait  for  the  other's  ruin.  How  easily 
might  not  the  adroit  and  lucky  Alphonse  come 
across  many  a  brilliant  business  opening,  and  make 
plenty  of  money  without  a  word  of  it  reaching 
Charles's  ears.  Perhaps,  after  all,  he  was  getting 
on  well.     Perhaps  it  would  end  in  people  saying; 


lOO  TALES   OF   TWO  COUNTRIES. 

"  See,  at  last  Monsieur  Alphonse  shows  what  he  is 
fit  for,  now  that  he  is  quit  of  his  dull  and  crabbed 
partner !" 

Charles  went  slowly  up  the  street  with  his  head 
bent.  Many  people  jostled  him,  but  he  heeded  not. 
His  life  seemed  to  him  so  meaningless,  as  if  he  had 
lost  all  that  he  had  ever  possessed — or  had  he  him- 
self cast  it  from  him  ?  Just  then  some  one  ran 
against  him  with  more  than  usual  violence.  He 
looked  up.  It  was  an  acquaintance  from  the  time 
when  he  and  Alphonse  had  been  in  the  Credit  Ly- 
onnais. 

"Ah,  good -day,  Monsieur  Charles !"  cried  he, 
"  It  is  long  since  we  met.  Odd,  too,  that  I  should 
meet  you  to-day.  I  was  just  thinking  of  you  this 
morning." 

"Why,  may  I  ask?"  said  Charles,  half -absently. 

**  Well,  you  see,  only  to-day  I  saw  up  at  the  bank 
a  paper — a  bill  for  thirty  or  forty  thousand  francs — 
bearing  both  your  name  and  that  of  Monsieur  Al- 
phonse. It  astonished  me,  for  I  thought  that  you 
two — hm  ! — had  done  with  each  other." 

"  No,  we  have  not  quite  done  with  each  other 
yet,"  said  Charles,  slowly. 

He  struggled  with  all  his  might  to  keep  his  face 
calm,  and  asked  in  as  natural  a  tone  as  he  could 
command  :  "  When  does  the  bill  fall  due  ?  I  don't 
quite  recollect." 

"  To-morrow  or  the  day  after,  I  think,"  answered 
the  other,  who  was  a  hard-worked  business  man, 


TWO    FRIENDS.  lOI 

and  was  already  in  a  hurry  to  be  off.  "  It  was  ac- 
cepted by  Monsieur  Alphonse." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Charles ;  "but  could  you  not 
manage  to  let  me  redeem  the  bill  to-morrow  ?  It  is 
a  courtesy — a  favor  I  am  anxious  to  do." 

"  With  pleasure.  Tell  your  messenger  to  ask  for 
me  personally  at  the  bank  to-morrow  afternoon. 
I  will  arrange  it ;  nothing  easier.  Excuse  me  ;  I'm 
in  a  hurry.    Good-bye !"  and  with  that  he  ran  on — 

— Next  day  Charles  sat  in  his  counting-house 
waiting  for  the  messenger  who  had  gone  up  to  the 
bank  to  redeem  Alphonse's  bill. 

At  last  a  clerk  entered,  laid  a  folded  blue  paper 
by  his  principal's  side,  and  went  out  again. 

Not  until  the  door  was  closed  did  Charles  seize 
the  draft,  look  swiftly  round  the  room,  and  open  it. 
He  stared  for  a  second  or  two  at  his  name,  then 
lay  back  in  his  chair  and  drew  a  deep  breath.  It 
was  as  he  had  expected — the  signature  was  a  for- 
gery. 

He  bent  over  it  again.  For  long  he  sat,  gazing 
at  his  own  name,  and  observing  how  badly  it  was 
counterfeited. 

While  his  sharp  eye  followed  every  line  in  the 
letters  of  his  name,  he  scarcely  thought.  His  mind 
was  so  disturbed,  and  his  feelings  so  strangely  con- 
flicting, that  it  was  some  time  before  he  became 
conscious  how  much  they  betrayed — these  bung- 
ling strokes  on  the  blue  paper. 

He  felt  a  strange  lump  in  his  throat,  his  nose  be- 


102  TALES   OF   TWO  COUNTRIES. 

gan  to  tickle  a  little,  and,  before  he  was  aware  of  it, 
a  big  tear  fell  on  the  paper. 

He  looked  hastily  around,  took  out  his  pocket- 
handkerchief,  and  carefully  wiped  the  wet  place  on 
the  bill.  He  thought  again  of  the  old  banker  in 
the  Rue  Bergere. 

What  did  it  matter  to  him  that  Alphonse's  weak 
character  had  at  last  led  him  to  crime,  and  what 
had  he  lost?  Nothing,  for  did  he  not  hate  his 
former  friend  ?  No  one  could  say  it  was  his  fault 
that  Alphonse  was  ruined — he  had  shared  with  him 
honestly,  and  never  harmed  him. 

Then  his  thoughts  turned  to  Alphonse.  He  knew 
him  well  enough  to  be  sure  that  when  the  refined, 
delicate  Alphonse  had  sunk  so  low,  he  must  have 
come  to  a  jutting  headland  in  life,  and  be  prepared 
to  leap  out  of  it  rather  than  let  disgrace  reach  him. 

At  this  thought  Charles  sprang  up.  That  must 
not  be.  Alphonse  should  not  have  time  to  send  a 
bullet  through  his  head  and  hide  his  shame  in  the 
mixture  of  compassion  and  mysterious  horror  which 
follows  the  suicide.  Thus  Charles  would  lose  his 
revenge,  and  it  would  be  all  to  no  purpose  that  he 
had  gone  and  nursed  his  hatred  until  he  himself 
had  become  evil  through  it.  Since  he  had  forever 
lost  his  friend,  he  would  at  least  expose  his  enemy, 
so  that  all  should  see  what  a  miserable,  despicable 
being  was  this  charming  Alphonse. 

He  looked  at  his  watch ;  it  was  half -past  four. 
Charles  knew  the  cafe  in  which  he  would  find  Al- 


TWO   FRIENDS.  IO3 

phonse  at  this  hour ;  he  pocketed  the  bill  and  but- 
toned his  coat. 

But  on  the  way  he  would  call  at  a  police-station, 
and  hand  over  the  bill  to  a  detective,  who  at  a  sign 
from  Charles  should  suddenly  advance  into  the 
middle  of  the  caf6  where  Alphonse  was  always  sur- 
rounded by  his  friends  and  admirers,  and  say  loud- 
ly and  distinctly  so  that  all  should  hear  it : 

"  Monsieur  Alphonse,  you  are  charged  with  forg- 
ery." 

It  was  raining  in  Paris.  The  day  had  been  fog- 
gy, raw,  and  cold ;  and  well  on  in  the  afternoon  it 
had  begun  to  rain.  It  was  not  a  downpour — the 
water  did  not  fall  from  the  clouds  in  regular 
drops — but  the  clouds  themselves  had,  as  it  were, 
laid  themselves  down  in  the  streets  of  Paris  and 
there  slowly  condensed  into  water. 

No  matter  how  people  might  seek  to  shelter 
themselves,  they  got  wet  on  all  sides.  The  moist- 
ure slid  down  the  back  of  your  neck,  laid  itself  like 
a  wet  towel  about  your  knees,  penetrated  into  your 
boots  and  far  up  your  trousers. 

A  few  sanguine  ladies  were  standing  in  the  partes 
cocheres,  with  their  skirts  tucked  up,  expecting  it  to 
clear;  others  waited  by  the  hour  in  the  omnibus 
stations.  But  most  of  the  stronger  sex  hurried 
along  under  their  umbrellas ;  only  a  few  had  been 
sensible  enough  to  give  up  the  battle,  and  had 
turned  up   their    collars,  stuck    their   umbrellas 


I04  TALES   OF   TWO  COUNTRIES. 

under  their  arms,  and  their  hands  in  their  pock- 
ets. 

Although  it  was  early  in  the  autumn  it  was  al- 
ready dusk  at  five  o'clock.  A  few  gas-jets  lighted 
in  the  narrowest  streets,  and  in  a  shop  here  and 
there,  strove  to  shine  out  in  the  thick  wet  air. 

People  swarmed  as  usual  in  the  streets,  jostled  one 
another  off  the  pavement,  and  ruined  one  anoth- 
er's umbrellas.  All  the  cabs  were  taken  up ;  they 
splashed  along  and  bespattered  the  foot-passengers 
to  the  best  of  their  ability,  while  the  asphalte  glis- 
tened in  the  dim  light  with  a  dense  coating  of  mud. 

The  cafes  were  crowded  to  excess ;  regular  cus- 
tomers went  round  and  scolded,  and  the  waiters 
ran  against  each  other  in  their  hurry.  Ever  and 
anon,  amid  the  confusion,  could  be  heard  the  sharp 
little  ting  of  the  bell  on  the  buffet ;  it  was  la  dame 
du  comptoir  summoning  a  waiter,  while  her  calm  eyes 
kept  a  watch  upon  the  whole  cafd. 

A  lady  sat  at  the  buffet  of  a  large  restaurant  on 
the  Boulevard  Sebastopol.  She  was  widely  known 
for  her  cleverness  and  her  amiable  manners. 

She  had  glossy  black  hair,  which,  in  spite  of  the 
fashion,  she  wore  parted  in  the  middle  of  her  fore- 
head in  natural  curls.  Her  eyes  were  almost  black 
and  her  mouth  full,  with  a  little  shadow  of  a  mus- 
tache. 

Her  figure  was  still  very  pretty,  although,  if  the 
truth  were  known,  she  had  probably  passed  her 
thirtieth  year ;  and  she  had  a  soft  little  hand,  with 


TWO    FRIENDS.  10$ 

which  she  wrote  elegant  figures  in  her  cash-book, 
and  now  and  then  a  little  note.  Madame  Virginie 
could  converse  with  the  young  dandies  who  were 
always  hanging  about  the  buffet,  and  parry  their 
witticisms,  while  she  kept  account  with  the  waiters 
and  had  her  eye  upon  every  corner  of  the  great 
room. 

She  was  really  pretty  only  from  five  till  seven  in 
the  afternoon  —  that  being  the  time  at  which  Al- 
phonse  invariably  visited  the  cai6.  Then  her  eyes 
never  left  him ;  she  got  a  fresher  color,  her  mouth 
was  always  trembling  into  a  smile,  and  her  move- 
ments became  somewhat  nervous.  That  was  the 
only  time  of  the  day  when  she  was  ever  known  to 
give  a  random  answer  or  to  make  a  mistake  in 
the  accounts ;  and  the  waiters  tittered  and  nudged 
each  other. 

For  it  was  generally  thought  that  she  had  former- 
ly had  relations  with  Alphonse,  and  some  would 
even  have  it  that  she  was  still  his  mistress. 

She  herself  best  knew  how  matters  stood ;  but  it 
was  impossible  to  be  angry  with  Monsieur  Alphonse. 
She  was  well  aware  that  he  cared  no  more  for  her 
than  for  twenty  others ;  that  she  had  lost  him — nay, 
that  he  had  never  really  been  hers.  And  yet  her 
eyes  besought  a  friendly  look,  and  when  he  left  the 
cafe  without  sending  her  a  confidential  greeting,  it 
seemed  as  though  she  suddenly  faded,  and  the  wait- 
ers said  to  each  other :  **  Look  at  Madame ;  she  is 
gray  to-night"— 


106  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

— Over  at  the  windows  it  was  still  light  enough 
to  read  the  papers ;  a  couple  of  young  men  were 
amusing  themselves  with  watching  the  crowds  which 
streamed  past.  Seen  through  the  great  plate-glass 
windows,  the  busy  forms  gliding  past  one  another 
in  the  dense,  wet,  rainy  air  looked  like  fish  in  an 
aquarium.  Farther  back  in  the  caf6,  and  over  the 
billiard -tables,  the  gas  was  lighted.  Alphonse  was 
playing  with  a  couple  of  friends. 

He  had  been  to  the  buffet  and  greeted  Madame 
Virginie,  and  she,  who  had  long  noticed  how  Al- 
phonse was  growing  paler  day  by  day,  had — half 
in  jest,  half  in  anxiety — ^reproached  him  with  his 
thoughtless  life. 

Alphonse  answered  with  a  poor  joke  and  asked 
for  absinthe. 

How  she  hated  those  light  ladies  of  the  ballet 
and  the  opera  who  enticed  Monsieur  Alphonse  to 
revel  night  after  night  at  the  gaming-table,  or  at 
interminable  suppers !  How  ill  he  had  been  look- 
ing these  last  few  weeks !  He  had  grown  quite 
thin,  and  the  great  gentle  eyes  had  acquired  a  pierc- 
ing, restless  look.  What  would  she  not  give  to  be 
able  to  rescue  him  out  of  that  life  that  was  dragging 
him  down !  She  glanced  in  the  opposite  mirror 
and  thought  she  had  beauty  enough  left. 

Now  and  then  the  door  opened  and  a  new  guest 
came  in,  stamped  his  feet  and  shut  his  wet  um- 
brella. All  bowed  to  Madame  Virginie,  and  almost 
all  said,  "  What  horrible  weather  1" 


TWO    FRIENDS.  I07 

When  Charles  entered  he  saluted  shortly  and 
took  a  seat  in  the  corner  beside  the  fireplace. 

Alphonse's  eyes  had  indeed  become  restless.  He 
looked  towards  the  door  every  time  any  one  came 
in;  and  when  Charles  appeared,  a  spasm  passed 
over  his  face  and  he  missed  his  stroke. 

"  Monsieur  Alphonse  is  not  in  the  vein  to-day,'* 
said  an  onlooker. 

Soon  after  a  strange  gentleman  came  in.  Charles 
looked  up  from  his  paper  and  nodded  slightly ;  the 
stranger  raised  his  eyebrows  a  little  and  looked  at 
Alphonse. 

He  dropped  his  cue  on  the  floor. 

"  Excuse  me,  gentlemen,  I'm  not  in  the  mood  for 
billiards  to-day,"  said  he,  "  permit  me  to  leave  off. 
Waiter,  bring  me  a  bottle  of  seltzer-water  and  a 
spoon — I  must  take  my  dose  of  Vichy  salts." 

"  You  should  not  take  so  much  Vichy  salts,  Mon- 
sieur Alphonse,  but  rather  keep  to  a  sensible  diet," 
said  the  doctor,  who  sat  a  little  way  off  playing  chess. 

Alphonse  laughed,  and  seated  himself  at  the 
newspaper-table.  He  seized  the  journal  Amusanf^ 
and  began  to  make  merry  remarks  upon  the  illus- 
trations. A  little  circle  quickly  gathered  round 
him,  and  he  was  inexhaustible  in  racy  stories  and 
whimsicalities. 

While  he  rattled  on  under  cover  of  the  others' 
laughter,  he  poured  out  a  glass  of  seltzer-water  and 
took  from  his  pocket  a  little  box  on  which  was  writ- 
ten, in  large  letters,  "  Vichy  Salts." 


lo8  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

He  shook  the  powder  out  into  the  glass  and 
stirred  it  round  with  a  spoon.  There  was  a  little 
cigar -ash  on  the  floor  in  front  of  his  chair;  he 
■whipped  it  off  with  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and 
then  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  glass. 

At  that  moment  he  felt  a  hand  on  his  arm. 
Charles  had  risen  and  hurried  across  the  room ;  he 
now  bent  down  over  Alphonse. 

Alphonse  turned  his  head  towards  him  so  that 
none  but  Charles  could  see  his  face.  At  first  he 
let  his  eyes  travel  furtively  over  his  old  friend's 
figure ;  then  he  looked  up,  and,  gazing  straight  at 
Charles,  he  said,  half  aloud,  "  Charlie !" 

It  was  long  since  Charles  had  heard  that  old  pet 
name.  He  gazed  into  the  well  -  known  face,  and 
now  for  the  first  time  saw  how  it  had  altered  of 
late.  It  seemed  to  him  as  though  he  were  reading 
a  tragic  story  about  himself. 

They  remained  thus  for  a  second  or  two,  and 
there  glided  over  Alphonse's  features  that  expres- 
sion of  imploring  helplessness  which  Charles  knew 
so  well  from  the  old  school-days,  when  Alphonse 
came  bounding  in  at  the  last  moment  and  wanted 
his  composition  written. 

"Have  you  done  with  the  yotimal  Amusant?" 
asked  Charles,  with  a  thick  utterance. 

"Yes;  pray  take  it,"  answered  Alphonse,  hur- 
riedly. He  reached  him  the  paper,  and  at  the  same 
time  got  hold  of  Charles's  thumb.  He  pressed  it 
and  whispered. "  Thanks,"  then — drained  the  glass. 


TWO   FRIENDS.  IO9 

Charles  went  over  to  the  stranger  who  sat  by  the 
door :  "  Give  me  the  bill." 

"  You  don't  need  our  assistance,  then .'" 

"  No,  thanks." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  the  stranger,  hand- 
ing Charles  a  folded  blue  paper.  Then  he  paid  for 
his  coffee  and  went. — 

— Madame  Virginie  rose  with  a  little  shriek; 
"  Alphonse !  Oh,  my  God  !  Monsieur  Alphonse  is 
ill" 

He  slipped  off  his  chair;  his  shoulders  went  up 
and  his  head  fell  oh  one  side.  He  remained  sitting 
on  the  floor,  with  his  back  against  the  chair. 

There  was  a  movement  among  those  nearest ;  the 
doctor  sprang  over  and  knelt  beside  him.  When  he 
looked  in  Alphonse's  face  he  started  a  little.  He 
took  his  hand  as  if  to  feel  his  pulse,  and  at  the 
same  time  bent  down  over  the  glass  which  stood  on 
the  edge  of  the  table. 

With  a  movement  of  the  arm  he  gave  it  a  slight 
push,  so  that  it  fell  on  the  floor  and  was  smashed. 
Then  he  laid  down  the  dead  man's  hand  and  bound 
a  handkerchief  round  his  chin. 

Not  till  then  did  the  others  understand  what  had 
happened.  "  Dead  ?  Is  he  dead,  doctor  ?  Mon- 
sieur Alphonse  dead  ?" 

"  Heart  disease,"  answered  the  doctor. 

One  came  running  with  water,  another  with  vine- 
gar. Amid  laughter  and  noise,  the  balls  could  be 
heard  cannoning  on  the  inner  billiard-table. 


no  TALES   OF   TWO  COUNTRIES. 

"  Hush !"  some  one  whispered.  "  Hush !"  was 
repeated ;  and  the  silence  spread  in  wider  and  wider 
circles  round  the  corpse,  until  all  was  quite  still. 

"  Come  and  lend  a  hand,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  dead  man  was  lifted  up ;  they  laid  him  on  a 
sofa  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  the  nearest  gas- 
jets  were  put  out. 

Madame  Virginie  was  still  standing  up ;  her  face 
was  chalk-white,  and  she  held  her  little  soft  hand 
pressed  against  her  breast.  They  carried  him 
right  past  the  buffet.  The  doctor  had  seized  him 
under  the  back,  so  that  his  waistcoat  slipped  up 
and  a  piece  of  his  fine  white  shirt  appeared. 

She  followed  with  her  eyes  the  slender,  supple 
limbs  she  knew  so  well,  and  continued  to  stare  tow- 
ards the  dark  corner. 

Most  of  the  guests  went  away  in  silence.  A 
couple  of  young  men  entered  noisily  from  the 
street ;  a  waiter  ran  towards  them  and  said  a  few 
words.  They  glanced  towards  the  corner,  buttoned 
their  coats,  and  plunged  out  again  into  the  fog. 

The  half- darkened  cafe  was  soon  empty;  only 
some  of  Alphonse's  nearest  friends  stood  in  a  group 
and  whispered.  The  doctor  was  talking  with  the 
proprietor,  who  had  now  appeared  on  the  scene. 

The  waiters  stole  to  and  fro  making  great  circuits 
to  avoid  the  dark  corner.  One  of  them  knelt  and 
gathered  up  the  fragments  of  the  glass  on  a  tray. 
He  did  his  work  as  quietly  as  he  could ;  but  for 
all  that  it  made  too  much  noise. 


TWO   FRIENDS.  Ill 

"  Let  that  alone  until  by-and-by,"  said  the  host, 
softly. 

— Leaning  against  the  chimney-piece,  Charles 
looked  at  the  dead  man.  He  slowly  tore  the 
folded  paper  to  pieces,  while  he  thought  of  his 
friend — 


A  GOOD  CONSCIENCE. 


A  GOOD  CONSCIENCE. 

An  elegant  little  carriage,  with  two  sleek  and 
well-fed  horses,  drew  up  at  Advocate  Abel's  garden 
gate. 

Neither  silver  nor  any  other  metal  was  visible  in 
the  harness ;  everything  was  a  dull  black,  and  all 
the  buckles  were  leather-covered.  In  the  lacquer- 
ing of  the  carriage  there  was  a  trace  of  dark  green  j 
the  cushions  were  of  a  subdued  dust -color;  and 
only  on  close  inspection  could  you  perceive  that 
the  coverings  were  of  the  richest  silk.  The  coach- 
man looked  like  an  English  clergjonan,  in  his  close- 
buttoned  black  coat,  with  a  little  stand-up  collar 
and  stiff  white  necktie. 

Mrs.  Warden,  who  sat  alone  in  the  carriage,  bent 
forward  and  laid  her  hand  upon  the  ivory  door- 
handle ;  then  she  slowly  alighted,  drew  her  long 
train  after  her,  and  carefully  closed  the  carriage 
door. 

You  might  have  wondered  that  the  coachman  did 
not  dismoimt  to  help  her ;  the  fat  horses  certainly 
did  not  look  as  though  they  would  play  any  tricks 
if  he  dropped  the  reins. 


Il6  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

But  when  you  looked  at  his  immovable  counte- 
nance and  his  correct  iron-gray  whiskers,  you  under- 
stood at  once  that  this  was  a  man  who  knew  what 
he  was  doing,  and  never  neglected  a  detail  of  his 
duty. 

Mrs.  Warden  passed  through  the  little  garden  in 
front  of  the  house,  and  entered  the  garden-room. 
The  door  to  the  adjoining  room  stood  half  open, 
and  there  she  saw  the  lady  of  the  house  at  a  large 
table  covered  with  rolls  of  light  stuff  and  scattered 
numbers  of  the  Bazar. 

"Ah,  you've  come  just  at  the  right  moment,  my 
dear  Emily!"  cried  Mrs.  Abel,  "I'm  quite  in  de- 
spair over  my  dress-maker — she  can't  think  of  any- 
thing new.  And  here  I'm  sitting,  ransacking  the 
Bazar.  Take  off  your  shawl,  dear,  and  come  and 
help  me ;  it's  a  walking-dress." 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  scarcely  the  person  to  help  you 
in  a  matter  of  dress,"  answered  Mrs.  Warden. 

Good-natured  Mrs.  Abel  stared  at  her;  there 
was  something  disquieting  in  her  tone,  and  she  had 
a  vast  respect  for  her  rich  friend. 

"  You  remember  I  told  you  the  other  day  that 
Warden  had  promised  me — that's  to  say" — Mrs. 
Warden  corrected  herself — "he  had  asked  me  to 
order  a  new  silk  dress — " 

"  From  Madame  Labiche — of  course  !" — inter- 
rupted Mrs.  Abel.  "And  I  suppose  you're  on  your 
way  to  her  now  ?  Oh,  take  me  with  you  !  It  will 
be  such  fun !" 


A  GOOD   CONSCIENCE.  II7 

"  I  am  not  going  to  Madame  Labiche's,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Warden,  almost  solemnly. 

"Good  gracious,  why  not?"  asked  her  friend, 
while  her  good-humored  brown  eyes  grew  spherical 
with  astonishment. 

"  Well,  you  must  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Warden, 
"  it  seems  to  me  we  can't  with  a  good  conscience 
pay  so  much  money  for  unnecessary  finery,  when 
we  know  that  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town — and 
even  at  our  very  doors — there  are  hundreds  of  peo- 
ple living  in  destitution — literally  in  destitution." 

"Yes,  but,"  objected  the  advocate's  wife,  casting 
an  uneasy  glance  over  her  table,  "  isn't  that  the 
way  of  the  world  ?    We  know  that  inequality — " 

"  We  ought  to  be  careful  not  to  increase  the  in- 
equality, but  rather  to  do  what  we  can  to  smooth  it 
away,"  Mrs.  Warden  interrupted.  And  it  appeared 
to  Mrs.  Abel  that  her  friend  cast  a  glance  of  disap- 
probation over  the  table,  the  stuffs,  and  the  Bazars. 

"  It's  only  alpaca,"  she  interjected,  timidly, 

"  Good  heavens,  Caroline !"  cried  Mrs.  Warden, 
"  pray  don't  think  that  I'm  reproaching  you.  These 
things  depend  entirely  upon  one's  individual  point 
of  view — every  one  must  follow  the  dictates  of  his 
own  conscience." 

The  conversation  continued  for  some  time,  and 
Mrs.  Warden  related  that  it  was  her  intention  to 
drive  out  to  the  very  lowest  of  the  suburbs,  in  order 
to  assure  herself,  with  her  own  eyes,  of  the  condi- 
tions of  life  among  the  poor. 


Il8  TALES  OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

On  the  previous  day  she  had  read  the  annual 
report  of  a  private  charitable  society  of  which  her 
husband  was  a  member.  She  had  purposely  re- 
frained from  applying  to  the  police  or  the  poor-law 
authorities  for  information.  It  was  the  very  gist  of 
her  design  personally  to  seek  out  poverty,  to  make 
herself  familiar  with  it,  and  then  to  render  assist- 
ance. 

The  ladies  parted  a  little  less  effusively  than 
usual.    They  were  both  in  a  serious  frame  of  mind. 

Mrs.  Abel  remained  in  the  garden-room ;  she  felt 
no  inclination  to  set  to  work  again  at  the  walking- 
dress,  althoiigh  the  stuff  was  really  pretty.  She 
heard  the  muffled  sound  of  the  carriage-wheels  as 
they  rolled  ofE  over  the  smooth  roadway  of  the  villa 
quarter. 

"  What  a  good  heart  Emily  has,"  she  sighed. 

Nothing  could  be  more  remote  than  envy  from 
the  good-natured  lady's  character ;  and  yet — it  was 
with  a  feeling  akin  to  envy  that  she  now  followed 
the  light  carriage  with  her  eyes.  But  whether  it 
was  her  friend's  good  heart  or  her  elegant  equi- 
page that  she  envied  her  it  was  not  easy  to  say. 

She  had  given  the  coachman  his  orders,  which  he 
had  received  without  moving  a  muscle ;  and  as  re- 
monstrance was  impossible  to  him,  he  drove  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  queerest  streets  in  the  poor 
quarter,  with  a  countenance  as  though  he  were 
driving  to  a  Court  ball. 

At  last  he  received  orders  to  stop,  and  indeed  it 


A  GOOD   CONSCIENCE.  II9 

was  high  time.  For  the  street  grew  narrower  and 
narrower,  and  it  seemed  as  though  the  fat  horses 
and  the  elegant  carriage  must  at  the  very  next  mo- 
ment have  stuck  fast,  like  a  cork  in  the  neck  of  a 
bottle. 

The  immovable  one  showed  no  sign  of  anxiety, 
although  the  situation  was  in  reality  desperate.  A 
humorist,  who  stuck  his  head  out  of  a  garret  win- 
dow, went  so  far  as  to  advise  him  to  slaughter  his 
horses  on  the  spot,  as  they  could  never  get  out 
again  alive. 

Mrs.  Warden  alighted,  and  turned  into  a  still 
narrower  street ;  she  wanted  to  see  poverty  at  its 
very  worst. 

In  a  door- way  stood  a  half- grown  girl.  Mrs. 
Warden  asked :  "  Do  very  poor  people  live  in  this 
house  ?" 

The  girl  laughed  and  made  some  answer  as  she 
brushed  close  past  her  in  the  narrow  door- way. 
Mrs.  Warden  did  not  understand  what  she  said, 
but  she  had  an  impression  that  it  was  something 
ugly. 

She  entered  the  first  room  she  came  to. 

It  was  not  a  new  idea  to  Mrs.  Warden  that  poor 
people  never  keep  their  rooms  properly  ventilated. 
Nevertheless,  she  was  so  overpowered  by  the  at- 
mosphere she  found  herself  inhaling  that  she  was 
glad  to  sink  down  on  a  bench  beside  the  stove. 

Mrs.  Warden  was  struck  by  something  in  the 
gesture  with  which  the  woman  of  the  house  swept- 


120  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

down  Upon  the  floor  the  clothes  which  were  lying 
on  the  bench,  and  in  the  smile  with  which  she  in- 
vited the  fine  lady  to  be  seated.  She  received  the 
impression  that  the  poor  woman  had  seen  better 
days,  although  her  movements  were  bouncing  rath- 
er than  refined,  and  her  smile  was  far  from  pleas- 
ant. 

The  long  train  of  Mrs.  Warden's  pearl-gray  visit- 
ing dress  spread  over  the  grimy  floor,  and  as  she 
stooped  and  drew  it  to  her  she  could  not  help 
thinking  of  an  expression  of  Heine's,  "  She  looked 
like  a  bon-bon  which  has  fallen  in  the  mire." 

The  conversation  began,  and  was  carried  on  as 
such  conversations  usually  are.  If  each  had  kept 
to  her  own  language  and  her  own  line  of  thought, 
neither  of  these  two  women  would  have  understood 
a  word  that  the  other  said. 

But  as  the  poor  always  know  the  rich  much  bet- 
ter than  the  rich  know  the  poor,  the  latter  have  at 
last  acquired  a  peculiar  dialect— a  particular  tone 
which  experience  has  taught  them  to  use  when 
they  are  anxious  to  make  themselves  understood — 
that  is  to  say,  understood  in  such  a  way  as  to  in- 
cline the  wealthy  to  beneficence.  Nearer  to  each 
other  they  can  never  come. 

Of  this  dialect  the  poor  woman  was  a  perfect 
mistress,  and  Mrs.  Warden  had  soon  a  general  idea 
of  her  miserable  case.  She  had  two  children — a 
boy  of  four  or  five,  who  was  lying  on  the  floor,  and 
a  baby  at  the  breast. 


A  GOOD   CONSCIENCE.  121 

Mrs.  Warden  gazed  at  the  pallid  little  creature, 
and  could  not  believe  that  it  was  thirteen  months 
old.  At  home  in  his  cradle  she  herself  had  a  little 
colossus  of  seven  months,  who  was  at  least  half  as 
big  again  as  this  child. 

"You  must  give  the  baby  something  strengthen- 
ing," she  said ;  and  she  had  visions  of  phosphate 
food  and  orange  jelly. 

At  the  words  "  something  strengthening,"  a  shag- 
gy head  looked  up  from  the  bedstraw ;  it  belonged 
to  a  pale,  hollow-eyed  man  with  a  large  woollen 
comforter  wrapped  round  his  jaws. 

Mrs.  Warden  was  frightened.  "  Your  husband  ?" 
she  asked. 

The  poor  woman  answered  yes,  it  was  her  hus- 
band. He  had  not  gone  to  work  to-day  because 
he  had  such  bad  toothache. 

Mrs.  Warden  had  had  toothache  herself,  and 
knew  how  painful  it  is.  She  uttered  some  words 
of  sincere  sympathy. 

The  man  muttered  something,  and  lay  back 
again ;  and  at  the  same  moment  Mrs.  Warden  dis- 
covered an  inmate  of  the  room  whom  she  had  not 
hitherto  observed. 

It  was  a  quite  young  girl,  who  was  seated  in  the 
comer  at  the  other  side  of  the  stove.  She  stared 
for  a  moment  at  the  fine  lady,  but  quickly  drew 
back  her  head  and  bent  forward,  so  that  the  visitor 
could  see  little  but  her  back. 

Mrs.  Warden  thought  the  girl  had  some  sewing 


122  TALES   OF  TWO   COUNTRIES. 

in  her  lap  which  she  wanted  to  hide ;  perhaps  it 
was  some  old  garment  she  was  mending. 

"  Why  does  the  big  boy  lie  upon  the  floor  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Warden. 

"  He's  lame,"  answered  the  mother.  And  now 
followed  a  detailed  account  of  the  poor  boy's  case, 
with  many  lamentations.  He  had  been  attacked 
with  hip-disease  after  the  scarlet-fever. 

"  You  must  buy  him — "  began  Mrs.  Warden,  in- 
tending to  say,  "  a  wheel-chair."  But  it  occurred 
to  her  that  she  had  better  buy  it  herself.  It  is  not 
wise  to  let  poor  people  get  too  much  money  into 
their  hands.  But  she  would  give  the  woman  some- 
thing at  once.  Here  was  real  need,  a  genuine  case 
for  help ;  and  she  felt  in  her  pocket  for  her  purse. 

It  was  not  there.  How  annoying — she  must 
have  left  it  in  the  carriage. 

Just  as  she  was  turning  to  the  woman  to  express 
her  regret,  and  promise  to  send  some  money  pres- 
ently, the  door  opened,  and  a  well-dressed  gentle- 
man entered.  His  face  was  very  full,  and  of  a  sort 
of  dry,  mealy  pallor. 

"  Mrs.  Warden,  I  presume  ?"  said  the  stranger. 
"  I  saw  your  carriage  out  in  the  street,  and  I  have 
brought  you  this — your  purse,  is  it  not  ?" 

Mrs.  Warden  looked  at  it — ^yes,  certainly,  it  was 
hers,  with  K  W.  inlaid  in  black  on  the  polished 
ivory. 

"  I  happened  to  see  it,  as  I  turned  the  comer,  in 
the  hands  of  a  girl — one  of  the  most  disreputable 


A  GOOD   CONSCIENCE.  1 23 

in  the  quarter,"  the  stranger  explained ;  adding,  "  I 
am  the  poor-law  inspector  of  the  district." 

Mrs.  Warden  thanked  him,  although  she  did  not 
at  all  like  his  appearance.  But  when  she  again 
looked  round  the  room  she  was  quite  alarmed  by 
the  change  which  had  taken  place  in  its  occupants. 

The  husband  sat  upright  in  the  bed  and  glared 
at  the  fat  gentleman,  the  wife's  face  wore  an  ugly 
smile,  and  even  the  poor  wee  cripple  had  scram- 
bled towards  the  door,  and  resting  on  his  lean  arms, 
stared  upward  like  a  little  animal. 

And  in  all  these  eyes  there  was  the  same  hate, 
the  same  aggressive  defiance.  Mrs.  Warden  felt 
as  though  she  were  now  separated  by  an  immense 
interval  from  the  poor  woman  with  whom  she  had 
just  been  talking  so  openly  and  confidentially. 

"  So  that's  the  state  you're  in  to-day,  Martin,** 
said  the  gentleman,  in  quite  a  different  voice.  "  I 
thought  you'd  been  in  that  affair  last  night.  Never 
mind,  they're  coming  for  you  this  afternoon.  It'll 
be  a  two  months'  business." 

All  of  a  sudden  the  torrent  was  let  loose.  The 
man  and  woman  shouted  each  other  down,  the  girl 
behind  the  stove  came  forward  and  joined  in,  the 
cripple  shrieked  and  rolled  about.  It  was  impos> 
sible  to  distinguish  the  words ;  but  what  between 
voices,  eyes,  and  hands,  it  seemed  as  though  the 
stuffy  little  room  must  fly  asunder  with  all  the  wild 
passion  exploding  in  it. 

Mrs.  Warden  turned  pale  and  rose,  the  gentleman 


124  TALES    OF    TWO    COUNTRIES. 

opened  the  door,  and  both  hastened  out.  As  she 
passed  down  the  passage  she  heard  a  horrible  burst 
of  feminine  laughter  behind  her.  It  must  be  the 
woman — the  same  woman  who  had  spoken  so  soft- 
ly and  despondently  about  the  poor  children. 

She  felt  half  angry  with  the  man  who  had  brought 
about  this  startling  change,  and  as  they  now  walked 
side  by  side  up  the  street  she  listened  to  him  with 
a  cold  and  distant  expression. 

But  gradually  her  bearing  changed ;  there  was 
really  so  much  in  what  he  said. 

The  poor-law  inspector  told  her  what  a  pleasure 
it  was  to  him  to  find  a  lady  like  Mrs.  Warden  so 
compassionate  towards  the  poor.  Though  it  was 
much  to  be  deplored  that  even  the  most  well-meant 
help  so  often  came  into  unfortunate  hands,  yet  there 
was  always  something  fine  and  ennobling  in  seeing 
a  lady  like  Mrs.  Warden — 

"  But,"  she  interrupted,  "  aren't  these  people  in 
the  utmost  need  of  help  ?  I  received  the  impres- 
sion that  the  woman  in  particular  had  seen  better 
days,  and  that  a  little  timely  aid  might  perhaps  en- 
able her  to  recover  herself." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you,  madam,"  said 
the  poor-law  inspector,  in  a  tone  of  mild  regret, 
"  that  she  was  formerly  a  very  notorious  woman  of 
the  town." 

Mrs.  Warden  shuddered. 

She  had  spoken  to  such  a  woman,  and  spoken 
about  children.     She  had  even  mentioned  her  own 


A  GOOD  CONSCIENCE.  I25 

child,  lying  at  home  in  its  innocent  cradle.  She  al- 
most felt  as  though  she  must  hasten  home  to  make 
sure  it  was  still  as  clean  and  wholesome  as  before. 

"And  the  young  girl  ?"  she  asked,  timidly. 

"  No  doubt  you  noticed  her — her  condition." 

"  No.     You  mean — " 

The  fat  gentleman  whispered  some  words. 

Mrs.  Warden  started :  "  By  the  man  ! — the  man 
of  the  house  ?" 

"  Yes,  madam,  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you  so ; 
but  you  can  understand  that  these  people — "  and  he 
whispered  again. 

This  was  too  much  for  Mrs.  Warden.  She  turned 
almost  dizzy,  and  accepted  the  gentleman's  arm. 
They  now  walked  rapidly  towards  the  carriage, 
which  was  standing  a  little  farther  off  than  the 
spot  at  which  she  had  left  it. 

For  the  immovable  one  had  achieved  a  feat 
which  even  the  humorist  had  acknowledged  with  an 
elaborate  oath. 

After  sitting  for  some  time,  stiff  as  a  poker,  he 
had  backed  his  sleek  horses,  step  by  step,  until  they 
reached  a  spot  where  the  street  widened  a  little, 
though  the  difference  was  imperceptible  to  any 
other  eyes  than  those  of  an  accomplished  coach- 
man. 

A  whole  pack  of  ragged  children  swarmed  about 
the  carriage,  and  did  all  they  could  to  upset  the 
composure  of  the  sleek  steeds.  But  the  spirit  of 
the  immovable  one  was  in  them. 


126  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

After  having  measured  with  a  glance  of  perfect 
composure  the  distance  between  two  flights  of 
steps,  one  on  each  side  of  the  street,  he  made  the 
sleek  pair  turn,  slowly  and  step  by  step,  so  short 
and  sharp  that  it  seemed  as  though  the  elegant 
carriage  must  be  crushed  to  fragments,  but  so  ac- 
curately that  there  was  not  an  inch  too  much  or 
too  little  on  either  side. 

Now  he  once  more  sat  stiff  as  a  poker,  still  meas- 
uring with  his  eyes  the  distance  between  the  steps. 
He  even  made  a  mental  note  of  the  number  of  a 
constable  who  had  watched  the  feat,  in  order  to 
have  a  witness  to  appeal  to  if  his  account  of  it 
should  be  received  with  scepticism  at  the  stables. 

Mrs.  Warden  allowed  the  poor-law  inspector  to 
hand  her  into  the  carriage.  She  asked  him  to  call 
upon  her  the  following  day,  and  gave  him  her  ad- 
dress. 

"  To  Advocate  Abel's !"  she  cried  to  the  coach- 
man. The  fat  gentleman  lifted  his  hat  with  a 
mealy  smile,  and  the  carriage  rolled  away. 

As  they  gradually  left  the  poor  quarter  of  the 
town  behind,  the  motion  of  the  carriage  became 
smoother,  and  the  pace  increased.  And  when  they 
emerged  upon  the  broad  avenue  leading  through 
the  villa  quarter,  the  sleek  pair  snorted  with  enjoy- 
ment of  the  pure,  delicate  air  from  the  gardens,  and 
the  immovable  one  indulged,  without  any  sort  of 
necessity,  in  three  masterly  cracks  of  his  whip. 

Mrs.  Warden,  too,  was  conscious  of  the  delight 


A  GOOD   CONSCIENCE.  I27 

of  finding  herself  once  more  in  the  fresh  air.  The 
experiences  she  had  gone  through,  and,  still  more, 
what  she  had  heard  from  the  inspector,  had  had  an 
almost  numbing  efifect  upon  her.  She  began  to 
realize  the  immeasurable  distance  between  herself 
and  such  people  as  these. 

She  had  often  thought  there  was  something  quite 
too  sad,  nay,  almost  cruel,  in  the  text :  "  Many  are 
called,  but  few  are  chosen." 

Now  she  understood  that  it  could  not  be  other- 
wise. 

How  could  people  so  utterly  depraved  ever  attain 
an  elevation  at  all  adequate  to  the  demands  of  a 
strict  morality  ?  What  must  be  the  state  of  these 
wretched  creatures'  consciences  ?  And  how  should 
they  be  able  to  withstand  the  manifold  tempta- 
tions of  life  ? 

She  knew  only  too  well  what  temptation  meant ! 
Was  she  not  incessantly  battling  against  a  tempta- 
tion— perhaps  the  most  perilous  of  all — the  tempta- 
tion of  riches,  about  which  the  Scriptures  said  so 
many  hard  things  ? 

She  shuddered  to  think  of  what  would  happen  if 
that  brutish  man  and  these  miserable  women  sud- 
denly had  riches  placed  in  their  hands. 

Yes,  wealth  was  indeed  no  slight  peril  to  the 
soul.  It  was  only  yesterday  that  her  husband  had 
tempted  her  with  such  a  delightful  little  man-serv- 
ant— a  perfect  English  groom.  But  she  had  resist- 
ed the  temptation,  and  answered :  "  Nq,  Warden,  it 


128  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

would  not  be  right;  I  will  not  have  a  footman  on 
the  box.  I  dare  say  we  can  afford  it ;  but  let  us  be- 
ware of  overweening  luxury.  I  assure  you  I  don't 
require  help  to  get  into  the  carriage  and  out  of  it ; 
I  won't  even  let  the  coachman  get  down  on  my  ac- 
count." 

It  did  her  good  to  think  of  this  now,  and  her 
eyes  rested  complacently  on  the  empty  seat  on  the 
box,  beside  the  immovable  one. 

Mrs.  Abel,  who  was  busy  clearing  away  Bazars 
and  scraps  of  stuff  from  the  big  table,  was  aston- 
ished to  see  her  friend  return  so  soon. 

"  Why,  Emily !  Back  again  already  ?  I've  just 
been  telling  the  dress-maker  that  she  can  go.  What 
you  were  saying  to  me  has  quite  put  me  out  of  con- 
ceit of  my  new  frock ;  I  can  quite  well  get  on  with- 
out one — "  said  good-natured  Mrs.  Abel ;  but  her 
lips  trembled  a  little  as  she  spoke. 

"  Every  one  must  act  according  to  his  own  con- 
science," answered  Mrs.  Warden,  quietly,  "  but  I 
think  it's  possible  to  be  too  scrupulous." 

Mrs.  Abel  looked  up ;  she  had  not  expected  this. 

"Just  let  me  tell  you  what  I've  gone  through," 
said  Mrs.  Warden,  and  began  her  story. 

She  sketched  her  first  impression  of  the  stuffy 
room  and  the  wretched  people ;  then  she  spoke  of 
the  theft  of  her  purse. 

"My  husband  always  declares  that  people  of 
that  kind  can't  refrain  from  stealing,"  said  Mrs. 
Abel. 


A  GOOD    CONSCIENCE.  1 29 

"I'm  afraid  your  husband  is  nearer  the  truth 
than  we  thought,"  replied  Mrs.  Warden. 

Then  she  told  about  the  inspector,  and  the  in- 
gratitude these  people  had  displayed  towards  the 
man  who  cared  for  them  day  by  day. 

But  when  she  came  to  what  she  had  heard  of 
the  poor  woman's  past  life,  and  still  more  when 
she  told  about  the  young  girl,  Mrs.  Abel  was  so 
overcome  that  she  had  to  ask  the  servant  to  bring 
some  port-wine. 

When  tUe  girl  brought  in  the  tray  with  the  de- 
canter, Mrs.  Abel  whispered  to  her :  "  Tell  the  dress- 
maker to  wait." 

"And  then,  can  you  conceive  it,"  Mrs.  Warden 
continued — "  I  scarcely  know  how  to  tell  you  " — 
and  she  whispered. 

"  What  do  you  say !  In  one  bed  !  All !  Why, 
it's  revolting  !"  cried  Mrs.  Abel,  clasping  her 
hands. 

"  Yes,  an  hour  ago  I,  too,  could  not  have  believed 
it  possible,"  answered  Mrs.  Warden,  "  But  when 
you've  been  on  the  spot  yourself,  and  seen  with 
your  own  eyes — " 

"  Good  heavens,  Emily,  how  could  you  venture 
into  such  a  place  !" 

"  I  am  glad  I  did,  and  still  more  glad  of  the  hap-, 
py  chance  that  brought  the  inspector  on  the  scene 
just  at  the  right  time.  For  if  it  is  ennobling  to 
bring  succor  to  the  virtuous  poor  who  live  clean 
and  frugal  lives  in  their  humble  sphere,  it  would  be 
9 


130  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

unpardonable  to  help  such  people  as  these  to  grati- 
fy their  vile  proclivities." 

"  Yes,  you're  quite  right,  Emily !  What  I  can't 
understand  is  how  people  in  a  Christian  communi- 
ty— people  who  have  been  baptized  and  confirmed 
— can  sink  into  such  a  state!  Have  they  not  ev- 
ery day — or,  at  any  rate,  every  Sunday — the  oppor- 
tunity of  listening  to  powerful  and  impressive  ser- 
mons ?  And  Bibles,  I  am  told,  are  to  be  had  for 
an  incredibly  trifling  sum." 

"Yes,  and  only  to  think,"  added  Mrs.  Warden, 
"that  not  even  the  heathen,  who  are  without  all 
these  blessings — that  not  even  they  have  any  ex- 
cuse for  evil-doing;  for  they  have  conscience  to 
guide  them." 

"  And  I'm  sure  conscience  speaks  clearly  enough 
to  every  one  who  has  the  will  to  listen,"  Mrs.  Abel 
exclaimed,  with  emphasis. 

"Yes,  heaven  knows  it  does,"  answered  Mrs. 
Warden,  gazing  straight  before  her  with  a  serious 
smile. 

When  the  friends  parted,  they  exchanged  warm 
embraces 

Mrs.  Warden  grasped  the  ivory  handle,  entered 
the  carriage,  and  drew  her  train  after  her.  Then 
she  closed  the  carriage  door — not  with  a  slam,  but 
slowly  and  carefully. 

"To  Madame  Labiche's!"  she  called  to  the 
coachman ;  then,  turning  to  her  friend  who  had 
accompanied  her  right  down  to  the  garden  gate, 


A   GOOD  CONSCIENCE.  131 

she  said,  with  a  quiet  smile  :  "  Now,  thank  heaven, 
I  can  order  my  silk  dress  with  a  good  conscience." 
"  Yes,  indeed  you  can !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Abel, 
watching  her  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  Then  she 
hastened  in-doors. 


ROMANCE   AND   REALITY. 


ROMANCE  AND  REALITY. 

"  Just  you  get  married  as  soon  as  you  can,"  said 
Mrs.  Olsen. 

"  Yes,  I  can't  understand  why  it  shouldn't  be  this 
very  autumn,"  exclaimed  the  elder  Miss  Ludvigsen, 
who  was  an  enthusiast  for  ideal  love. 

**  Oh,  yes !"  cried  Miss  Louisa,  who  was  certain 
to  be  one  of  the  bridesmaids. 

"  But  Soren  says  he  can't  afford  it,"  answered  the 
bride  elect,  somewhat  timidly. 

"  Can't  aflFord  it !"  repeated  Miss  Ludvigsen. 
"  To  think  of  a  young  girl  using  such  an  expres- 
sion !  If  you're  going  to  let  your  new-born  love  be 
overgrown  with  prosaic  calculations,  what  will  be 
left  of  the  ideal  halo  which  love  alone  can  cast  over 
life  ?  That  a  man  should  be  alive  to  these  consid- 
erations I  can  more  or  less  understand — it's  in  a 
way  his  duty ;  but  for  a  sensitive,  womanly  heart, 
in  the  heyday  of  sentiment ! — No,  no,  Marie ;  for 
heaven's  sake,  don't  let  these  sordid  money-ques- 
tions darken  your  happiness." 

"  Oh,  no !"  cried  Miss  Louisa. 


136  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

"And,  besides,"  Mrs.  Olsen  chimed  in,  "your 
Jiance  is  by  no  means  so  badly  off.  My  husband  and 
I  began  life  on  much  less. — I  know  you'll  say  that 
times  were  different  then.  Good  heavens,  we  all 
know  that !  What  I  can't  understand  is  that  you 
don't  get  tired  of  telling  us  so.  Don't  you  think 
that  we  old  people,  who  have  gone  through  the 
transition  period,  have  the  best  means  of  compar- 
ing the  requirements  of  to-day  with  those  of  our 
youth  ?  You  can  surely  understand  that  with  my 
experience  of  house-keeping,  I'm  not  likely  to  disre- 
gard the  altered  conditions  of  life ;  and  yet  I  assure 
you  that  the  salary  your  intended  receives  from  my 
husband,  with  what  he  can  easily  earn  by  extra 
work,  is  quite  sufficient  to  set  up  house  upon," 

Mrs.  Olsen  had  become  quite  eager  in  her  argu- 
ment, though  no  one  thought  of  contradicting  her. 
She  had  so  often,  in  conversations  of  this  sort,  been 
irritated  to  hear  people,  and  especially  young  mar- 
ried women,  enlarging  on  the  ridiculous  cheapness 
of  everj'thing  thirty  years  ago.  She  felt  as  though 
they  wanted  to  make  light  of  the  exemplary  fashion 
in  which  she  had  conducted  her  household. 

This  conversation  made  a  deep  impression  on 
\}citfianch,  for  she  had  great  confidence  in  Mrs. 
Olsen's  shrewdness  and  experience.  Since  Marie 
had  become  engaged  to  the  Sheriff's  clerk,  the 
Sheriff's  wife  had  taken  a  keen  interest  in  her. 
She  was  an  energetic  woman,  and,  as  her  own  chil- 
dren were  already  grown  up  and  married,  she  found 


ROMANCE  AND   REALITY.  137 

a  welcome  outlet  for  her  activity  in  busying  herself 
with  the  concerns  of  the  young  couple. 

Marie's  mother,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a  very 
retiring  woman.  Her  husband,  a  subordinate  gov- 
ernment official,  had  died  so  early  that  her  pension 
was  extremely  scanty.  She  came  of  a  good  family, 
and  had  learned  nothing  in  her  girlhood  except  to 
play  the  piano.  This  accomplishment  she  had  long 
ceased  to  practise,  and  in  the  course  of  time  had 
become  exceedingly  religious. — 

— "Look  here,  now,  my  dear  fellow,  aren't  you 
thinking  of  getting  niarried  ?"  asked  the  Sheriff,  in 
his  genial  way. 

*'  Oh  yes,"  answered  Soren,  with  some  hesita. 
tion,  "  when  I  can  afford  it. 

"  Afford  it !"  the  Sheriff  repeated ;  "  Why,  you're 
by  no  means  so  badly  off.  I  know  you  have  some- 
thing laid  by — " 

"  A  trifle,"  Soren  put  in. 

*'  Well,  so  be  it ;  but  it  shows,  at  any  rate,  that 
you  have  an  idea  of  economy,  and  that's  as  good  as 
money  in  your  pocket.  You  came  out  high  in  your 
examination ;  and,  with  your  family  influence  and 
other  advantages  at  headquarters,  you  needn't  wait 
long  before  applying  for  some  minor  appointment ; 
and  once  in  the  way  of  promotion,  you  know,  you 
go  ahead  in  spite  of  yourself." 

Soren  bit  his  pen  and  looked  interested. 

"  Let  us  assume,"  continued  his  principal,  "that, 
thanks  to  your  economy,  you  can  set  up  house  with- 


138  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

out  getting  into  any  debt  worth  speaking  of.  Then 
you'll  have  your  salary  clear,  and  whatever  you  can 
earn  in  addition  by  extra  work.  It  would  be 
strange,  indeed,  if  a  man  of  your  ability  could  not 
find  employment  for  his  leisure  time  in  a  rising 
commercial  centre  like  ours." 

Soren  reflected  all  forenoon  on  what  the  Sherifi 
had  said.  He  saw,  more  and  more  clearly,  that  he 
had  over-estimated  the  financial  obstacles  to  his 
marriage;  and,  after  all,  it  was  true  that  he  had 
a  good  deal  of  time  on  his  hands  out  of  office 
hours. 

He  was  engaged  to  dine  with  his  principal ;  and 
his  intended,  too,  was  to  be  there.  On  the  whole, 
the  young  people  perhaps  met  quite  as  often  at 
the  Sheriif 's  as  at  Marie's  home.  For  the  peculiar 
knack  which  Mrs.  Moller,  Marie's  mother,  had  ac- 
quired, of  giving  every  conversation  a  religious  turn, 
was  not  particularly  attractive  to  them. 

There  was  much  talk  at  table  of  a  lovely  little 
house  which  Mrs.  Olsen  had  discovered ;  "A  per- 
fect nest  for  a  newly  -  married  couple,"  as  she  ex- 
pressed herself.  Soren  inquired,  in  passing,  as  to 
the  financial  conditions,  and  thought  them  reason- 
able enough,  if  the  place  answered  to  his  hostess's 
description. 

— Mrs.  Olsen's  anxiety  to  see  this  marriage  hur- 
ried on  was  due  in  the  first  place,  as  above  hinted, 
to  her  desire  for  mere  occupation,  and,  in  the  sec- 
ond place,  to  a  vague  longing  for  some  event,  of 


ROMANCE   AND    REALITY.  I39 

whatever  nature,  to  happen — a  psychological  phe- 
nomenon by  no  means  rare  in  energetic  natures, 
living  narrow  and  monotonous  lives. 

The  Sheriff  worked  in  the  same  direction,  partly 
in  obedience  to  his  wife's  orders,  and  partly  because 
he  thought  that  Soren's  marriage  to  Marie,  who 
owed  so  much  to  his  family,  would  form  another 
tie  to  bind  him  to  the  office — for  the  Sheriff  was 
pleased  with  his  clerk. 

After  dinner  the  young  couple  strolled  about  the 
garden.  They  conversed  in  an  odd,  short-winded 
fashion,  until  at  last  Soren,  in  a  tone  which  was 
meant  to  be  careless,  threw  out  the  suggestion : 
"  What  should  you  say  to  getting  married  this  au- 
tumn ?" 

Marie  forgot  to  express  surprise.  The  same 
thought  had  been  running  in  her  own  head ;  so  she 
answered,  looking  to  the  ground:  "Well,  if  you 
think  you  can  afford  it,  I  can  have  no  objection." 

"  Suppose  we  reckon  the  thing  out,"  said  Soren, 
and  drew  her  towards  the  summer-house. — 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  they  came  out,  arm-in- 
arm,  into  the  sunshine.  They,  too,  seemed  to  radi- 
ate light — the  glow  of  a  spirited  resolution,  formed 
after  ripe  thought  and  serious  counting  of  the 
cost. 

Some  people  might,  perhaps,  allege  that  it  would 
be  rash  to  assume  the  absolute  correctness  of  a 
calculation  merely  from  the  fact  that  two  lovers 
have  arrived  at  exactly  the  same  total ;  especially 


I40  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

when  the  problem  happens  to  bear  upon  the  choice 
between  renunciation  and  the  supremest  bliss. 

In  the  course  of  the  calculation  Soren  had  not 
been  without  misgivings.  He  remembered  how,  in 
his  student  days,  he  had  spoken  largely  of  our 
duty  towards  posterity ;  how  he  had  philosophically 
demonstrated  the  egoistic  element  in  love,  and  pro- 
pounded the  ludicrous  question  whether  people  had 
a  right,  in  pure  heedlessness  as  it  were,  to  bring 
children  into  the  world. 

But  time  and  practical  life  had,  fortunately,  cured 
him  of  all  taste  for  these  idle  and  dangerous  men- 
tal gymnastics.  And,  besides,  he  was  far  too  prop- 
er and  well-bred  to  shock  his  innocent  lady-love  by 
taking  into  account  so  indelicate  a  possibility  as 
that  of  their  having  a  large  family.  Is  it  not  one 
of  the  charms  of  young  love  that  it  should  leave 
such  matters  as  these  to  heaven  and  the  stork  ?* 

There  was  great  jubilation  at  the  Sheriff's,  and 
not  there  alone.  Almost  the  whole  town  was  thrown 
into  a  sort  of  fever  by  the  intelligence  that  the 
Sheriff's  clerk  was  to  be  married  in  the  autumn. 
Those  who  were  sure  of  an  invitation  to  the  wed- 
ding were  already  looking  forward  to  it ;  those  who 
could  not  hope  to  be  invited  fretted  and  said  spite- 
ful things ;  while  those  whose  case  was  doubtful 
were  half  crazy  with  suspense.  And  all  emotions 
have  their  value  in  a  stagnant  little  town. 

*  The  stork,  according  to  common  nursery  legends,  brings 
babies  under  its  wing. 


ROMANCE  AND   REALITY.  I4I 

— Mrs.  Olsen  was  a  woman  of  courage ;  yet  her 
heart  beat  as  she  set  forth  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Moller. 
It  is  no  light  matter  to  ask  a  mother  to  let  her 
daughter  be  married  from  your  house.  But  she 
might  have  spared  herself  all  anxiety. 

For  Mrs.  Moller  shrank  from  every  sort  of  exer- 
tion almost  as  much  as  she  shrank  from  sin  in  all 
its  forms.  Therefore  she  was  much  relieved  by  Mrs. 
Olsen's  proposition,  introduced  with  a  delicacy  which 
did  not  always  characterize  that  lady's  proceedings. 
However,  it  was  not  Mrs.  MoUer's  way  to  make  any 
show  of  pleasure  or  satisfaction.  Since  everything, 
in  one  way  or  another,  was  a  "  cross  "  to  be  borne, 
she  did  not  fail,  even  in  this  case,  to  make  it  appear 
that  her  long-suffering  was  proof  against  every  trial. 

Mrs.  Olsen  returned  home  beaming.  She  would 
have  been  balked  of  half  her  pleasure  in  this  mar- 
riage if  she  had  not  been  allowed  to  give  the  wedding- 
party;  for  wedding-parties  were  Mrs.  Olsen's  spe- 
cialty. On  such  occasions  she  put  her  economy 
aside,  and  the  satisfaction  she  felt  in  finding  an 
opening  for  all  her  energies  made  her  positively  ami- 
able. After  all,  the  Sheriff's  post  was  a  good  one, 
and  the  01  sens  had  always  had  a  little  property  be- 
sides, which,  however,  they  never  talked  about. 

— So  the  wedding  came  off,  and  a  splendid  wed- 
ding it  was.  Miss  Ludvigsen  had  written  an  un- 
rhymed  song  about  true  love,  which  was  sung  at 
the  feast,  and  Louisa  eclipsed  all  the  other  brides- 
maids. 


142  TALES    OF    TWO    COUNTRIES. 

The  newly-married  couple  took  up  their  quarters 
in  the  nest  discovered  by  Mrs.  Olsen,  and  plunged 
into  that  half-conscious  existence  of  festal  felicity 
which  the  English  call  the  "  honeymoon,"  because 
it  is  too  sweet ;  the  Germans,  "  Flitterwochen,"  be- 
cause its  glory  departs  so  quickly;  and  we  "the 
wheat-bread  days  "  because  we  know  that  there  is 
coarser  fare  to  follow. 

But  in  Soren's  cottage  the  wheat -bread  days 
lasted  long;  and  when  heaven  sent  them  a  little 
angel  with  golden  locks,  their  happiness  was  as  great 
as  we  can  by  any  means  expect  in  this  weary  world. 

As  for  the  incomings — well,  they  were  fairly  ade- 
quate, though  Soren  had,  unfortunately,  not  suc- 
ceeded in  making  a  start  without  getting  into  debt ; 
but  that  would,  no  doubt,  come  right  in  time. — 

— Yes,  in  time !  The  years  passed,  and  with 
each  of  them  heaven  sent  Soren  a  little  golden- 
locked  angel.  After  six  years  of  marriage  they 
had  exactly  five  children.  The  quiet  little  town 
was  unchanged,  Soren  was  still  the  Sheriff's  clerk, 
and  the  Sheriff's  household  was  as  of  old ;  but 
Soren  himself  was  scarcely  to  be  recognized. 

They  tell  of  sorrows  and  heavy  blows  of  fate 
which  can  turn  a  man's  hair  gray  in  a  night.  Such 
afflictions  had  not  fallen  to  Soren's  lot.  The  sor- 
rows that  had  sprinkled  his  hair  with  gray,  rounded 
his  shoulders,  and  made  him  old  before  his  time, 
were  of  a  lingering  and  vulgar  type.  They  were 
bread-sorrows. 


ROMANCE  AND   REALITY.  I43 

Bread-sorrows  are  to  other  sorrows  as  toothache 
to  other  disorders.  A  simple  pain  can  be  con- 
quered in  open  fight ;  a  nervous  fever,  or  any  other 
"  regular  "  illness,  goes  through  a  normal  develop- 
ment and  comes  to  a  crisis.  But  while  toothache 
has  the  long-drawn  sameness  of  the  tape-worm, 
bread -sorrows  envelop  their  victim  like  a  grimy 
cloud :  he  puts  them  on  every  morning  with  his 
threadbare  clothes,  and  he  seldom  sleeps  so  deep- 
ly as  to  forget  them. 

It  was  in  the  long  fight  against  encroaching  pov- 
erty that  Soren  had  worn  himself  out;  and  yet  he 
was  great  at  economy. 

But  there  are  two  sorts  of  economy :  the  active 
and  the  passive.  Passive  economy  thinks  day  and 
night  of  the  way  to  save  a  half-penny ;  active  econ- 
omy broods  no  less  intently  on  the  way  to  earn  a 
dollar.  The  first  sort  of  economy,  the  passive, 
prevails  among  us ;  the  active  in  the  great  nations 
— chiefly  in  America. 

Soren's  strength  lay  in  the  passive  direction. 
He  devoted  all  his  spare  time  and  some  of  his 
office-hours  to  thinking  out  schemes  for  saving  and 
retrenchment.  But  whether  it  was  that  the  luck 
was  against  him,  or,  more  probably,  that  his  in- 
come was  really  too  small  to  support  a  wife  and 
five  children — in  any  case,  his  financial  position 
went  from  bad  to  worse. 

Every  place  in  life  seems  filled  to  the  uttermost, 
and  yet  there  are  people  who  make  their  way  every- 


144  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

where,  Soren  did  not  belong  to  this  class.  He 
sought  in  vain  for  the  extra  work  on  which  he  and 
Marie  had  reckoned  as  a  vague  but  ample  source  of 
income.  Nor  had  his  good  connections  availed  him 
aught.  There  are  always  plenty  of  people  ready  to 
help  young  men  of  promise  who  can  help  them- 
selves ;  but  the  needy  father  of  a  family  is  never 
welcome. 

Soren  had  been  a  man  of  many  friends.  It  could 
not  be  said  that  they  had  drawn  back  from  him, 
but  he  seemed  somehow  to  have  disappeared  from 
their  view.  When  they  happened  to  meet,  there 
was  a  certain  embarrassment  on  both  sides.  Soren 
no  longer  cared  for  the  things  that  interested  them, 
and  they  were  bored  when  he  held  forth  upon  the 
severity  of  his  daily  grind,  and  the  expensiveness 
of  living. 

And  if,  now  and  then,  one  of  his  old  friends  in- 
vited him  to  a  bachelor-party,  he  did  as  people  are 
apt  to  do  whose  every-day  fare  is  extremely  frugal : 
he  ate  and  drank  too  much.  The  lively  but  well- 
bred  and  circumspect  Soren  declined  into  a  sort 
of  butt,  who  made  rambling  speeches,  and  around 
whom  the  young  whelps  of  the  party  would  gather 
after  dinner  to  make  sport  for  themselves.  But 
what  impressed  his  friends  most  painfully  of  all, 
was  his  utter  neglect  of  his  personal  appearance. 

For  he  had  once  been  extremely  particular  in  his 
dress ;  in  his  student  days  he  had  been  called  "  the 
exquisite  Soren."     And  even  after  his  marriage  he 


ROMANCE   AND    REALITY.  145 

had  for  some  time  contrived  to  wear  his  modest 
attire  with  a  certain  air.  But  after  bitter  necessity 
had  forced  him  to  keep  every  garment  in  use  an 
unnaturally  long  time,  his  vanity  had  at  last  given 
way.  And  when  once  a  man's  sense  of  personal 
neatness  is  impaired,  he  is  apt  to  lose  it  utterly. 
When  a  new  coat  became  absolutely  necessary,  it 
was  his  wife  that  had  to  awaken  him  to  the  fact ; 
and  when  his  collars  became  quite  too  ragged  at 
the  edges,  he  trimmed  them  with  a  pair  of  scissors. 

He  had  other  things  to  think  about,  poor  fellow. 
But  when  people  came  into  the  office,  or  when  he 
was  entering  another  person's  house,  he  had  a 
purely  mechanical  habit  of  moistening  his  fingers 
at  his  lips,  and  rubbing  the  lapels  of  his  coat.  This 
was  the  sole  relic  of  "the  exquisite  Soren's"  ex- 
quisiteness — like  one  of  the  rudimentary  organs, 
dwindled  through  lack  of  use,  which  zoologists  find 
in  certain  animals. — 

Soren's  worst  enemy,  however,  dwelt  within  him. 
In  his  youth  he  had  dabbled  in  philosophy,  and 
this  baneful  passion  for  thinking  would  now  attack 
him  from  time  to  time,  crushing  all  resistance,  and, 
in  the  end,  turning  everything  topsy-turvy. 

It  was  when  he  thought  about  his  children  that 
this  befell  him. 

When  he  regarded  these  little  creatures,  who,  as 
he  could  not  conceal  from  himself,  became  more 
and  more  neglected  as  time  went  on,  he  found  it 
impossible  to  place  them  under  the  category  of 


146  TALES    OF    TWO   COUNTRIES. 

golden-locked  angels  had  sent  him  by  heaven.  He 
had  to  admit  that  heaven  does  not  send  us  these 
gifts  without  a  certain  inducement  on  our  side ;  and 
then  Soren  asked  himself :  "  Had  you  any  right  to 
do  this  ?"  He  thought  of  his  own  life,  which  had 
begun  under  fortunate  conditions.  His  family  had 
been  in  easy  circumstances ;  his  father,  a  govern- 
ment official,  had  given  him  the  best  education  to 
be  had  in  the  country;  he  had  gone  forth  to  the 
battle  of  life  fully  equipped  —  and  what  had  come 
of  it  all  ? 

And  how  could  he  equip  his  children  for  the 
fight  into  which  he  was  sending  them  ?  They  had 
begun  their  life  in  need  and  penury,  which  had,  as  far 
as  possible,  to  be  concealed ;  they  had  early  learned 
the  bitter  lesson  of  the  disparity  between  inward 
expectations  and  demands  and  outward  circum- 
stances ;  and  from  their  slovenly  home  they  would 
take  with  them  the  most  crushing  inheritance,  per- 
haps, under  which  a  man  can  toil  through  life;  to 
wit,  poverty  with  pretensions. 

Soren  tried  to  tell  himself  that  heaven  would 
take  care  of  them.  But  he  was  ashamed  to  do  so, 
for  he  felt  it  was  only  a  phrase  of  self-excuse,  de- 
signed to  allay  the  qualms  of  conscience. 

These  thoughts  were  his  worst  torment;  but, 
truth  to  tell,  they  did  not  often  attack  him,  for 
Soren  had  sunk  into  apathy.  That  was  the  Sher- 
iff's view  of  his  case.  "  My  clerk  was  quite  a  clever 
fellow  in  his  time,"  he  used  to  say.      "  But,  you 


ROMANCE   AND   REALITY.  147 

know,  his  hasty  marriage,  his  large  family,  and  all 
that — in  short,  he  has  almost  done  for  himself." 

Badly  dressed  and  badly  fed,  beset  with  debts 
and  cares,  he  was  worn  out  and  weary  before  he 
had  accomplished  anything.  And  life  went  its 
way,  and  Soren  dragged  himself  along  in  its  train. 
He  seemed  to  be  forgotten  by  all  save  heaven, 
which,  as  aforesaid,  sent  him  year  by  year  a  little 
angel  with  locks  of  gold — 

Soren's  young  wife  had  clung  faithfully  to  her 
husband  through  these  six  years,  and  she,  too,  had 
reached  the  same  point. 

The  first  year  of  her  married  life  had  glided  away 
like  a  dream  of  dizzy  bliss.  When  she  held  up  the 
little  golden-locked  angel  for  the  admiration  of  her 
lady  friends,  she  was  beautiful  with  the  beauty  of 
perfect  maternal  happiness ;  and  Miss  Ludvigsen 
said :  "  Here  is  love  in  its  ideal  form." 

But  Mrs.  Olsen's  "  nest "  soon  became  too  small ; 
the  family  increased  while  the  income  stood  still. 
She  was  daily  confronted  by  new  claims,  new  cares, 
and  new  duties.  Marie  set  stanchly  to  work,  for 
she  was  a  courageous  and  sensible  woman. 

It  is  not  one  of  the  so-called  elevating  employ- 
ments to  have  charge  of  a  houseful  of  little  chil- 
dren, with  no  means  of  satisfying  even  moderate 
requirements  in  respect  of  comfort  and  well-being. 
In  addition  to  this,  she  was  never  thoroughly  ro- 
bust ;  she  oscillated  perpetually  between  having  just 
had,  and  being  just  about  to  have,  a  child.    As  she 


148  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

toiled  from  morning  to  night,  she  lost  her  buoyancy 
of  spirit,  and  her  mind  became  bitter.  She  some- 
times asked  herself :  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  it  all  ?" 

She  saw  the  eagerness  of  young  girls  to  be  mar- 
ried, and  the  air  of  self-complacency  with  which 
young  men  offer  to  marry  them ;  she  thought  of  her 
own  experience,  and  felt  as  though  she  had  been 
befooled. 

But  it  was  not  right  of  Marie  to  think  thus,  for 
she  had  been  excellently  brought  up. 

The  view  of  life  to  which  she  had  from  the  first 
been  habituated,  was  the  only  beautiful  one,  the 
only  one  that  could  enable  her  to  preserve  her 
ideals  intact.  No  unlovely  and  prosaic  theory  of 
existence  had  ever  cast  its  shadow  over  her  devel- 
opment; she  knew  that  love  is  the  most  beautiful 
thing  on  earth,  that  it  transcends  reason  and  is 
consummated  in  marriage ;  as  to  children,  she  had 
learned  to  blush  when  they  were  mentioned. 

A  strict  watch  had  always  been  kept  upon  her 
reading.  She  had  read  many  earnest  volumes  on 
the  duties  of  woman  ;  she  knew  that  her  happiness 
lies  in  being  loved  by  a  man,  and  that  her  mission 
is  to  be  his  wife.  She  knew  how  evil-disposed  peo- 
ple will  often  place  obstacles  between  two  lovers, 
but  she  knew,  too,  that  true  love  will  at  last  emerge 
victorious  from  the  fight.  When  people  met  with 
disaster  in  the  battle  of  life,  it  was  because  they 
were  false  to  the  ideal.  She  had  faith  in  the  ideal, 
although  she  did  not  know  what  it  was. 


ROMANCE   AND  REALITY.  149 

She  knew  and  loved  those  poets  whom  she  was 
allowed  to  read.  Much  of  their  erotics  she  only 
half  understood,  but  that  made  it  all  the  more  love- 
ly. She  knew  that  marriage  was  a  serious,  a  very 
serious  thing,  for  which  a  clergyman  was  indispen- 
sable ;  and  she  understood  that  marriages  are  made 
in  heaven,  as  engagements  are  made  in  the  ball- 
room. But  when,  in  these  youthful  days,  she  pict- 
ured to  herself  this  serious  institution,  she  seemed 
to  be  looking  into  an  enchanted  grove,  with  Cupids 
weaving  garlands,  and  storks  bringing  little  golden- 
locked  angels  under  their  wings ;  while  before  a 
little  cabin  in  the  background,  which  yet  was  large 
enough  to  contain  all  the  bliss  in  the  world,  sat  the 
ideal  married  couple,  gazing  into  the  depths  of  each 
other's  eyes. 

No  one  had  ever  been  so  ill-bred  as  to  say  to 
her :  "  Excuse  me,  young  lady,  would  you  not  like 
to  come  with  me  to  a  different  point  of  view,  and 
look  at  the  matter  from  the  other  side  .-*  How  if  it 
should  turn  out  to  be  a  mere  set-scene  of  painted 
pasteboard  ?" 

Soren's  young  wife  had  now  had  ample  opportu- 
nities of  studying  the  set-scene  from  the  other  side.— 

Mrs.  Olsen  had  at  first  come  about  her  early  and 
late,  and  overwhelmed  her  with  advice  and  criti- 
cism. Both  Soren  and  his  wife  were  many  a  time 
heartily  tired  of  her ;  but  they  owed  the  Olsens  so 
much. 

Little  by  little,  however,  the  old  lady's  zeal  cooled 


ISO  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

down.  When  the  young  people's  house  was  no 
longer  so  clean,  so  orderly,  and  so  exemplary  that 
she  could  plume  herself  upon  her  work,  she  gradu- 
ally withdrew;  and  when  Soren's  wife  once  in  a 
while  came  to  ask  her  for  advice  or  assistance,  the 
Sheriff's  lady  would  mount  her  high  horse,  until 
Marie  ceased  to  trouble  her.  But  if,  in  society, 
conversation  happened  to  fall  upon  the  Sheriff's 
clerk,  and  any  one  expressed  compassion  for  his 
poor  wife,  with  her  many  children  and  her  miser- 
able income,  Mrs.  Olsen  would  not  fail  to  put  in  her 
word  with  great  decision:  "I  can  assure  you  it 
would  be  just  the  same  if  Marie  had  twice  as  much 
to  live  on  and  no  children  at  all.  You  see,  she's — " 
and  Mrs.  Olsen  made  a  motion  with  her  hands,  as 
if  she  were  squandering  something  abroad,  to  right 
and  left. 

Marie  seldom  went  to  parties,  and  if  she  did 
appear,  in  her  at  least  ten -times -altered  marriage 
dress,  it  was  generally  to  sit  alone  in  a  corner,  or 
to  carry  on  a  tedious  conversation  with  a  similarly 
situated  housewife  about  the  deamess  of  the  times 
and  the  unreasonableness  of  servant-girls. 

And  the  young  ladies  who  had  gathered  the  gen- 
tlemen around  them,  either  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  or  wherever  they  found  the  most  comfortable 
chairs  to  stretch  themselves  in,  whispered  to  each 
other :  "  How  tiresome  it  is  that  young  married 
women  can  never  talk  about  anything  but  house- 
keeping and  the  nursery." 


ROMANCE   AND   REALITY.  151 

In  the  early  days,  Marie  had  often  had  visits 
from  her  many  friends.  They  were  enchanted  with 
her  charming  house,  and  the  little  golden -locked 
angel  had  positively  to  be  protected  from  their 
greedy  admiration.  But  when  one  of  them  now 
chanced  to  stray  in  her  direction,  it  was  quite  a 
different  affair.  There  was  no  longer  any  golden- 
locked  angel  to  be  exhibited  in  a  clean,  embroid- 
ered frock  with  red  ribbons.  The  children,  who 
were  never  presentable  without  warning,  were  hud- 
dled hastily  away — dropping  their  toys  about  the 
floor,  forgetting  to  pick  up  half- eaten  pieces  of 
bread-and-butter  from  the  chairs,  and  leaving  be- 
hind them  that  peculiar  atmosphere  which  one  can, 
at  most,  endure  in  one's  own  children. 

Day  after  day  her  life  dragged  on  in  ceaseless 
toil.  Many  a  time,  when  she  heard  her  husband 
bemoaning  the  drudgery  of  his  lot,  she  thought  to 
herself  with  a  sort  of  defiance :  "  I  wonder  which  of 
us  two  has  the  harder  work  ?" 

In  one  respect  she  was  happier  than  her  hus- 
band. Philosophy  did  not  enter  into  her  dreams, 
and  when  she  could  steal  a  quiet  moment  for  reflec- 
tion, her  thoughts  were  very  different  from  the  cog- 
itations of  the  poor  philosopher. 

She  had  no  silver  plate  to  polish,  no  jewelry  to 
take  out  and  deck  herself  with.  But,  in  the  in- 
most recess  of  her  heart,  she  treasured  all  the  mem- 
ories of  the  first  year  of  her  marriage,  that  year  of 
romantic  bliss  :    and   these  memories  she  would 


152  TALES  OF  TWO   COUNTRIES. 

furbish  and  furbish  afresh,  till  they  shone  brighter 
with  every  year  that  passed. 

But  when  the  weary  and  despondent  housewife, 
in  all  secrecy,  decked  herself  out  with  these  jewels 
of  memory,  they  did  not  succeed  in  shedding  any 
brightness  over  her  life  in  the  present.  She  was 
scarcely  conscious  of  any  connection  between  the 
golden-locked  angel  with  the  red  ribbons  and  the 
five-year-old  boy  who  lay  grubbing  in  the  dark  back 
yard.  These  moments  snatched  her  quite  away 
from  reality ;  they  were  like  opium  dreams. 

Then  some  one  would  call  for  her  from  an  ad- 
joining room,  or  one  of  the  children  would  be 
brought  in  howling  from  the  street,  with  a  great 
bump  on  its  forehead.  Hastily  she  would  hide 
away  her  treasures,  resume  her  customary  air  of 
hopeless  weariness,  and  plunge  once  more  into  her 
labyrinth  of  duties  and  cares. 

— Thus  had  this  marriage  fared,  and  thus  did 
this  couple  toil  onward.  They  both  dragged  at 
the  same  heavy  load ;  but  did  they  drag  in  unison  ? 
It  is  sad,  but  it  is  true  :  when  the  manger  is  empty, 
the  horses  bite  each  other. — 

— There  was  a  great  chocolate -party  at  the 
Misses  Ludvigsen's — all  maiden  ladies. 

"For  married  women  are  so  prosaic,"  said  the 
elder  Miss  Ludvigsen. 

"  Uh,  yes  !"  cried  Louisa. 

Every  one  was  in  the  most  vivacious  humor,  as 
is  generally  the  case  in  such  company  and  on  such 


ROMANCE   AND   REALITY.  153 

an  occasion ;  and,  as  the  gossip  went  the  round  of 
the  town,  it  arrived  in  time  at  Soren's  door.  All 
were  agreed  that  it  was  a  most  unhappy  marriage, 
and  a  miserable  home ;  some  pitied,  others  con- 
demned. 

Then  the  elder  Miss  Ludvigsen,  with  a  certain 
solemnity,  expressed  herself  as  follows  :  "  I  can  tell 
you  what  was  at  fault  in  that  marriage,  for  I  know 
the  circumstances  thoroughly.  Even  before  her 
marriage  there  was  something  calculating,  some- 
thing almost  prosaic  in  Marie's  nature,  which  is  en- 
tirely foreign  to  true,  ideal  love.  This  fault  has 
since  taken  the  upperhand,  and  is  avenging  itself 
cruelly  upon  both  of  them.  Of  course  their  means 
are  not  great,  but  what  could  that  matter  to  two 
people  who  truly  loved  each  other?  for  we  know 
that  happiness  is  not  dependent  on  wealth.  Is  it 
not  precisely  in  the  humble  home  that  the  omnipo- 
tence of  love  is  most  beautifully  made  manifest  ? 
— And,  besides,  who  can  call  these  two  poor  ?  Has 
not  heaven  richly  blessed  them  with  healthy,  sturdy 
children  ?  These  —  these  are  their  true  wealth  ! 
And  if  their  hearts  had  been  filled  with  true,  ideal 
love,  then — then — " 

Miss  Ludvigsen  came  to  a  momentary  stand- 
still. 

"  What  then  ?"  asked  a  courageous  young  lady. 

"  Then,"  continued  Miss  Ludvigsen,  loftily,  "then 
we  should  certainly  have  seen  a  very  different  lot 
in  life  assigned  to  them." 


154  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

The  courageous  young  lady  felt  ashamed  of  her- 
jelf. 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Miss  Ludvig- 
sen's  words  sank  deep  into  all  hearts.  They  all 
felt  that  this  was  the  truth ;  any  doubt  and  uneasi- 
ness that  might  perhaps  have  lurked  here  and  there 
vanished  away.  All  were  confirmed  in  their  stead- 
fast and  beautiful  faith  in  true,  ideal  love ;  for  they 
were  all  maiden  ladies. 


WITHERED    LEAVES. 


WITHERED   LEAVES. 

You  may  tire  of  looking  at  a  single  painting,  but 
you  must  tire  of  looking  at  many.  That  is  why  the 
eyelids  grow  so  heavy  in  the  great  galleries,  and  the 
seats  are  as  closely  packed  as  an  omnibus  on  Sun- 
day. 

Happy  he  who  has  resolution  enough  to  select 
from  the  great  multitude  a  small  number  of  pict- 
ures, to  which  he  can  return  every  day. 

In  this  way  you  can  appropriate — undetected  by 
the  custodians — a  little  private  gallery  of  your  own, 
distributed  through  the  great  halls.  Everything 
which  does  not  belong  to  this  private  collection  sinks 
into  mere  canvas  and  gildmg,  a  decoration  you 
glance  at  in  passing,  but  which  does  not  fatigue  the 
eye. 

It  happens  now  and  then  that  you  discover  a  pict- 
ure, hitherto  overlooked,  which  now,  after  thorough 
examination,  is  admitted  as  one  of  the  select  few. 
The  assortment  thus  steadily  increases,  and  it  is 
even  conceivable  that  by  systematically  following 
this  method  you  might  make  a  whole  picture-gallery, 
in  this  sense,  your  private  property. 


158  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

But  as  a  rule  there  is  no  time  for  that.  You  must 
rapidily  take  your  bearings,  putting  a  cross  in  the 
catalogue  against  the  pictures  you  think  of  annex- 
ing, just  as  a  forester  marks  his  trees  as  he  goes 
through  the  wood. 

These  private  collections,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
are  of  many  different  kinds.  One  may  often  search 
them  in  vain  for  the  great,  recognized  masterpieces, 
while  one  may  find  a  little,  unconsidered  picture 
in  the  place  of  honor ;  and  in  order  to  understand 
the  odd  arrangement  of  many  of  these  small  collec- 
tions, one  must  take  as  one's  cicerone  the  person 
whose  choice  they  represent.  Here,  now,  is  a  pict- 
ure from  a  private  gallery. — 

There  hung  in  a  corner  of  the  Salon  of  1878  a  pict- 
ure by  the  English  painter  Mr.  Everton  Sainsbury. 
It  made  no  sensation  whatever.  It  was  neither 
large  enough  nor  small  enough  to  arouse  idle  curi- 
osity, nor  was  there  a  trace  of  modern  extravagance 
either  in  composition  or  in  color. 

As  people  passed  they  gave  it  a  sympathetic 
glance,  for  it  made  a  harmonious  impression,  and 
the  subject  was  familiar  and  easily  understood. 

It  represented  two  lovers  who  had  slightly  fallen 
out,  and  people  smiled  as  each  in  his  own  mind 
thought  of  those  charming  little  quarrels  which  are 
so  vehement  and  so  short,  which  arise  from  the  most 
improbable  and  most  varied  causes,  but  invariably 
end  in  a  kiss. 

And  yet  this  picture  attracted  to  itself  its  own 


WITHERED   LEAVES.  159 

special  public;  you  could  see  that  it  was  adopted 
into  several  private  collections. 

As  you  made  your  way  towards  the  well-known 
corner,  you  would  often  find  the  place  occupied  by  a 
solitary  person  standing  lost  in  contemplation.  At 
different  times,  you  would  come  upon  all  sorts  of 
different  people  thus  absorbed ;  but  they  all  had 
the  same  peculiar  expression  before  that  picture,  as 
if  it  cast  a  faded,  yellowish  reflection. 

If  you  approached,  the  gazer  would  probably 
move  away ;  it  seemed  as  though  only  one  person 
at  a  time  could  enjoy  that  work  of  art — as  though 
one  must  be  entirely  alone  with  it. — 

In  a  comer  of  the  garden,  right  against  the  high 
wall,  stands  an  open  summer-house.  It  is  quite 
simply  built  of  green  lattice-work,  which  forms  a 
large  arch  backed  by  the  wall.  The  whole  summer- 
house  is  covered  with  a  wild  vine,  which  twines  it- 
self from  the  left  side  over  the  arched  roof,  and 
droops  its  slender  branches  on  the  right. 

It  is  late  autumn.  The  summer-house  has  al- 
ready lost  its  thick  roof  of  foliage.  Only  the 
youngest  and  most  delicate  tendrils  of  the  wild 
vine  have  any  leaves  left.  Before  they  fall,  depart- 
ing summer  lavishes  on  them  all  the  color  it  has 
left;  like  light  sprays  of  red  and  yellow  flowers, 
they  hang  yet  a  while  to  enrich  the  garden  with 
autumn's  melancholy  splendor. 

The  fallen  leaves  are  scattered  all  around,  and 
right  before  the  summer-house  the  wind  has  with 


l6o  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

great  diligence  whirled  the  loveliest  of  them  to- 
gether, into  a  neat  little  round  cairn. 

The  trees  are  already  leafless,  and  on  a  naked 
branch  sits  the  little  garden-warbler  with  its  rust- 
brown  breast — like  a  withered  leaf  left  hanging — 
and  repeats  untiringly  a  little  fragment  which  it  re- 
members of  its  spring-song. 

The  only  thriving  thing  in  the  whole  picture  is 
the  ivy ;  for  ivy,  like  sorrow,  is  fresh  both  summer 
and  winter. 

It  comes  creeping  along  with  its  soft  feelers,  it 
thrusts  itself  into  the  tiniest  chinks,  it  forces  its  way 
through  the  minutest  crannies  ;  and  not  until  it  has 
waxed  wide  and  strong  do  we  realize  that  it  can  no 
longer  be  rooted  up,  but  will  inexorably  strangle 
whatever  it  has  laid  its  clutches  on. 

Ivy,  however,  is  like  well-bred  sorrow ;  it  cloaks 
its  devastations  with  fair  and  glossy  leaves.  Thus 
people  wear  a  glossy  mask  of  smiles,  feigning  to  be 
unaware  of  the  ivy-clad  ruins  among  which  their  lot 
is  cast. — 

In  the  middle  of  the  open  summer-house  sits  a 
young  girl  on  a  rush  chair ;  both  hands  rest  in  her 
lap.  She  is  sitting  with  bent  head  and  a  strange 
expression  in  her  beautiful  face.  It  is  not  vexation 
or  anger,  still  less  is  it  commonplace  sulkiness,  that 
utters  itself  in  her  features;  it  is  rather  bitter  and 
crushing  disappointment.  She  looks  as  if  she 
were  on  the  point  of  letting  something  slip  away 
from  her  which  she  has  not  the  strength  to  hold 


WITHERED   LEAVES.  l6l 

fast — as  if  something  were  withering  between  he? 
hands. 

The  man  who  is  leaning  with  one  hand  upoi 
her  chair  is  beginning  to  understand  that  the  situa. 
tion  is  graver  than  he  thought.  He  has  done  all 
he  can  to  get  the  quarrel,  so  trivial  in  its  origin,  ad- 
justed and  forgotten ;  he  has  talked  reason,  he  has 
tried  playfulness ;  he  has  besought  forgiveness,  and 
humbled  himself — perhaps  more  than  he  intended 
— but  all  in  vain.  Nothing  avails  to  arouse  her 
out  of  the  listless  mood  into  which  she  has  sunk. 

Thus  it  is  with  an  expression  of  anxiety  that  he 
bends  down  towards  her  :  "  But  you  know  that  at 
heart  we  love  each  other  so  much." 

"  Then  why  do  we  quarrel  so  easily,  and  why  do 
we  speak  so  bitterly  and  unkindly  to  each  other  ?" 

"  Why,  my  dear !  the  whole  thing  was  the  merest 
trifle  from  the  first." 

"  That's  just  it !  Do  you  remember  what  we  said 
to  each  other  ?  How  we  vied  with  each  other  in 
trying  to  find  the  word  we  knew  would  be  most 
wounding  ?  Oh,  to  think  that  we  used  our  knowl- 
edge of  each  other's  heart  to  find  out  the  tender- 
est  points,  where  an  unkind  word  could  strike  home ! 
And  this  we  call  love !" 

"My  dear,  don't  take  it  so  solemnly,"  he  an- 
swered, trying  a  lighter  tone.  "People  may  be 
ever  so  fond  of  each  other,  and  yet  disagree  a  little 
at  times ;  it  can't  be  otherwise." 

"Yes,  yes!"  she  cried,  "there  must  be  a  love 
II 


l62  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

for  which  discord  is  impossible,  or  else— or  else  I 
have  been  mistaken,  and  what  we  call  love  is  noth- 
ing but—" 

"  Have  no  doubts  of  love !"  he  interrupted  her, 
eagerly;  and  he  depicted  in  warm  and  eloquent 
words  the  feeling  which  ennobles  humanity  in  teach- 
ing us  to  bear  with  each  other's  weaknesses  ;  which 
confers  upon  us  the  highest  bliss,  since,  in  spite  of 
all  petty  disagreements,  it  unites  us  by  the  fairest 
ties. 

She  had  only  half  listened  to  him.  Her  eyes 
had  wandered  over  the  fading  garden,  she  had  in- 
haled the  heavy  atmosphere  of  dying  vegetation — 
and  she  had  been  thinking  of  the  spring-time,  of 
hope,  of  that  all-powerful  love  which  was  now  dying 
like  an  autumn  flower. 

"Withered  leaves,"  said  she,  quietly;  and  rising, 
she  scattered  with  her  foot  all  the  beautiful  leaves 
which  the  wind  had  taken  such  pains  to  heap  to- 
gether. 

She  went  up  the  avenue  leading  to  the  house ;  he 
followed  close  behind  her.  He  was  silent,  for  he 
found  not  a  word  to  say.  A  drowsy  feeling  of 
uneasy  languor  came  over  him ;  he  asked  himself 
whether  he  could  overtake  her,  or  whether  she  were 
a  hundred  miles  away. 

She  walked  with  her  head  bent,  looking  down  at 
the  flower-beds.  There  stood  the  asters  like  torn 
paper  flowers  upon  withered  potato-shaws ;  the 
dahlias  hung  their  stupid,  crinkled  heads   upoa 


WITHERED    LEAVES.  1 63 

their  broken  stems,  and  the  hollyhocks  showed 
small  stunted  buds  at  the  top,  and  great  wet,  rot- 
ting flowers  clustering  down  their  stalks. 

And  disappointment  and  bitterness  cut  deep  into 
the  young  heart.  As  the  flowers  were  dying,  she 
was  ripening  for  the  winter  of  life. 

So  they  disappeared  up  the  avenue.  But  the 
empty  chair  remained  standing  in  the  half-withered 
summer-house,  while  the  wind  busied  itself  afresh 
in  piling  up  the  leaves  in  a  little  cairn. 

And  in  the  course  of  time  we  all  come— <ach  in 
his  turn — to  seat  ourselves  on  the  empty  chair  in  a 
corner  of  the  garden  and  gaze  on  a  little  cairn  of 
withered  leaves. — 


THE   BATTLE  OF  WATERLOO. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  WATERLOO. 

Since  it  is  not  only  entertaining  in  itself,  but  also 
consonant  with  use  and  wont,  to  be  in  love ;  and 
since  in  our  innocent  and  moral  society,  one  can  so 
much  the  more  safely  indulge  in  these  amatory  di- 
versions as  one  runs  no  risk  of  being  disturbed 
.either  by  vigilant  fathers  or  pugnacious  brothers ; 
and,  finally,  since  one  can  as  easily  get  out  of  as  get 
into  our  peculiarly  Norwegian  form  of  betrothal — 
a  half-way  house  between  marriage  and  free  board 
in  a  good  family  —  all  these  things  considered,  I 
say,  it  was  not  wonderful  that  Cousin  Hans  felt  pro- 
foundly unhappy.  For  he  was  not  in  the  least  in 
love. 

He  had  long  lived  in  expectation  of  being  seized 
by  a  kind  of  delirious  ecstasy,  which,  if  experienced 
people  are  to  be  trusted,  is  the  infallible  symptom  of 
true  love.  But  as  nothing  of  the  sort  had  happened, 
although  he  was  already  in  his  second  year  at  col- 
lege, he  said  to  himself :  "  After  all,  love  is  a  lot- 
tery if  you  want  to  win,  you  must  at  least  table 
your  stake.  *L.end  Fortune  a  helping  hand,'  as 
they  say  in  the  lottery  advertisements." 


l68  TALES   OF   TWO  COUNTRIES. 

He  looked  about  him  diligently,  and  closely  ob- 
served his  own  heart. 

Like  a  fisher  who  sits  with  his  line  around  his 
forefinger,  watching  for  the  least  jerk,  and  wonder- 
ing when  the  bite  will  come,  so  Cousin  Hans  held 
his  breath  whenever  he  saw  a  young  lady,  won- 
dering whether  he  was  now  to  feel  that  peculiar 
jerk  which  is  well  known  to  be  inseparable  from 
true  love — that  jerk  which  suddenly  makes  all  the 
blood  rush  to  the  heart,  and  then  sends  it  just  as 
suddenly  up  into  the  head,  and  makes  your  face 
flush  red  to  the  very  roots  of  your  hair. 

But  never  a  bite  came.  His  hair  had  long  ago 
flushed  red  to  the  roots,  for  Cousin  Hans's  hair 
could  not  be  called  brown ;  but  his  face  remained 
as  pale  and  as  long  as  ever. 

The  poor  fisherman  was  growing  quite  weary, 
when  he  one  day  strolled  down  to  the  esplanade. 
He  seated  himself  on  a  bench  and  observed,  with  a 
contemptuous  air,  a  squad  of  soldiers  engaged  in 
the  invigorating  exercise  of  standing  on  one  leg  in 
the  full  sunshine,  and  wriggling  their  bodies  so  as 
to  be  roasted  on  both  sides. 

"Nonsense!"*  said  Cousin  Hans,  indignantly; 
"  it's  certainly  too  dear  a  joke  for  a  little  country 
like  ours  to  maintain  acrobats  of  that  sort.  Didn't 
I  see  the  other  day  that  this  so-called  army  requires 
1500  boxes  of  shoe -blacking,  600  curry-combs, 

*  The  English  word  is  used  in  the  original. 


THE  BATTLE  OF   WATERLOO.  1 69 

3000  yards  of  gold-lace  and  8640  brass  buttons  ? — 
It  would  be  better  if  we  saved  what  we  spend  in 
gold- lace  and  brass  buttons,  and  devoted  our  half- 
pence to  popular  enlightenment,"  said  Cousin  Hans. 

For  he  was  infected  by  the  modern  ideas,  which 
are  unfortunately  beginning  to  make  way  among  us, 
and  which  will  infallibly  end  in  overthrowing  the 
whole  existing  fabric  of  society. 

"Good-bye,  then,  for  the  present,"  said  a  lady's 
voice  close  behind  him. 

"  Good-bye  for  the  present,  my  dear,"  answered  a 
deep,  masculine  voice. 

Cousin  Hans  turned  slowly,  for  it  was  a  warm 
day.  He  discovered  a  military-looking  old  man  in  a 
close-buttoned  black  coat,  with  an  order  at  his  but- 
ton-hole, a  neck-cloth  twisted  an  incredible  number 
of  times  around  his  throat,  a  well-brushed  hat,  and 
light  trousers.  The  gentleman  nodded  to  a  young 
lady,  who  went  off  towards  the  town,  and  then  con- 
tinued his  walk  along  the  ramparts. 

Weary  of  waiting  as  he  was.  Cousin  Hans  could 
not  help  following  the  young  girl  with  his  eyes  as 
she  hastened  away.  She  was  small  and  trim,  and 
he  observed  with  interest  that  she  was  one  of  the 
few  women  who  do  not  make  a  little  inward  turn 
with  the  left  foot  as  they  lift  it  from  the  ground. 

This  was  a  great  merit  in  the  young  man's  eyes ; 
for  Cousin  Hans  was  one  of  those  sensitive,  ob. 
servant  natures  who  are  alone  fitted  really  to  ap- 
preciate a  woman  at  her  full  value. 


1 7©  TALES   OF  TWO  COUNTRIES. 

After  a  few  steps  the  lady  turned,  no  doubt  in  or- 
der to  nod  once  again  to  the  old  officer ;  but  by 
the  merest  chance  her  eyes  met  those  of  Cousin 
Hans. 

At  last  occurred  what  he  had  so  long  been  ex- 
pecting :  he  felt  the  bite  !  His  blood  rushed  about 
just  in  the  proper  way,  he  lost  his  breath,  his  head 
became  hot,  a  cold  shiver  ran  down  his  back,  and 
he  grew  moist  between  the  fingers.  In  short,  all 
the  symptoms  supervened  which,  according  to  the 
testimony  of  poets  and  experienced  prose-writers, 
betoken  real,  true,  genuine  love. 

There  was,  indeed,  no  time  to  be  lost.  He  hasti- 
ly snatched  up  his  gloves,  his  stick,  and  his  stu- 
dent's cap,  which  he  had  laid  upon  the  bench,  and 
set  off  after  the  lady  across  the  esplanade  and  tow- 
ards the  town. 

In  the  great,  corrupt  communities  abroad  this 
sort  of  thing  is  not  allowable.  There  the  condi- 
tions of  life  are  so  impure  that  a  well-bred  young 
man  would  never  think  of  following  a  reputable 
woman.  And  the  few  reputable  women  there  are 
in  those  nations,  would  be  much  discomposed  to 
find  themselves  followed. 

But  in  our  pure  and  moral  atmosphere  we  can, 
fortunately,  permit  our  young  people  somewhat 
greater  latitude,  just  on  account  of  the  strict  pro- 
priety of  our  habits. 

Cousin  Hans,  therefore,  did  not  hesitate  a  mo- 
ment in  obeying  the  voice  of  his  heart;  and  the 


THE  BATTLE   OF   WATERLOO.  171 

young  lady,  who  soon  observed  what  havoc  she 
had  made  with  the  glance  designed  for  the  old 
soldier,  felt  the  situation  piquant  and  not  unpleas- 
ing. 

The  passers-by,  who,  of  course,  at  once  saw  what 
was  going  on  (be  it  observed  that  this  is  one  of  the 
few  scenes  of  life  in  which  the  leading  actors  are 
quite  unconscious  of  their  audience),  thought,  for 
the  most  part,  that  the  comedy  was  amusing  to 
witness.  They  looked  round  and  smiled  to  them- 
selves ;  for  they  all  knew  that  either  it  would  lead 
to  nothing,  in  which  case  it  was  only  the  most  in- 
nocent of  youthful  amusements ;  or  it  would  lead 
to  an  engagement,  and  an  engagement  is  the  most 
delightful  thing  in  the  world. 

While  they  thus  pursued  their  course  at  a  fitting 
distance,  now  on  the  same  sidewalk  and  now  on 
opposite  sides  of  the  street,  Cousin  Hans  had  am- 
ple time  for  reflection. 

As  to  the  fact  of  his  being  in  love  he  was  quite 
clear.  The  symptoms  were  all  there;  he  knew 
that  he  was  in  for  it,  in  for  real,  true,  genuine,  love; 
and  he  was  happy  in  the  knowledge.  Yes,  so  hap- 
py was  Cousin  Hans  that  he,  who  at  other  times 
was  apt  to  stand  upon  his  rights,  accepted  with  a 
quiet,  complacent  smile  all  the  jostlings  and  shoves, 
the  smothered  objurgations  and  other  unpleasant- 
nesses, which  inevitably  befall  any  one  who  rushes 
hastily  along  a  crowded  street,  keeping  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  an  object  in  front  of  him. 


172  TALES   OF  TWO  COUNTRIES. 

No  —  the  love  was  obvious,  indubitable.  That 
settled,  he  tried  to  picture  to  himself  the  beloved 
one's,  the  heavenly  creature's,  mundane  circum- 
stances. And  there  was  no  great  difficulty  in  that ; 
she  had  been  walking  with  her  old  father,  had  sud- 
denly discovered  that  it  was  past  twelve  o'clock, 
and  had  hastily  said  good-bye  for  the  present,  in 
order  to  go  home  and  see  to  the  dinner.  For  she 
was  doubtless  domestic,  this  sweet  creature,  and 
evidently  motherless. 

The  last  conjecture  was,  perhaps,  a  result  of  the 
dread  of  mothers-in-law  inculcated  by  all  reputable 
authors ;  but  it  was  none  the  less  confident  on  that 
account.  And  now  it  only  remained  for  Cousin 
Hans  to  discover,  in  the  first  place,  where  she  lived, 
in  the  second  place  who  she  was,  and  in  the  third 
place  how  he  could  make  her  acquaintance. 

Where  she  lived  he  would  soon  learn,  for  was 
she  not  on  her  way  home  ?  Who  she  was,  he  could 
easily  find  out  from  the  neighbors.  And  as  for 
making  her  acquaintance  —  good  heavens !  is  not 
a  little  difficulty  an  indispensable  part  of  a  genu- 
ine romance .'' 

Just  as  the  chase  was  at  its  height,  the  quarry 
disappeared  into  a  gate-way ;  and  it  was  really  high 
time,  for,  truth  to  tell,  the  hunter  was  rather  ex- 
hausted. 

He  read  with  a  certain  relief  the  number,  "34,"  over 
the  gate,  then  went  a  few  steps  farther  on,  in  order 
to  throw  any  possible  observer  off  the  scent,  and 


THE   BATTLE   OF   WATERLOO.  1 73 

Stopped  beside  a  street-lamp  to  recover  his  breath. 
It  was,  as  aforesaid,  a  warm  day ;  and  this,  com- 
bined with  his  violent  emotion,  had  thrown  Hans 
into  a  strong  perspiration.  His  toilet,  too,  had  been 
disarranged  by  the  reckless  eagerness  with  which 
he  had  hurled  himself  into  the  chase. 

He  could  not  help  smiling  at  himself,  as  he  stood 
and  wiped  his  face  and  neck,  adjusted  his  necktie, 
and  felt  his  collar,  which  had  melted  on  the  sunny 
side.  But  it  was  a  blissful  smile ;  he  was  in  that 
frame  of  mind  in  which  one  sees,  or  at  any  rate 
apprehends,  nothing  of  the  external  world ;  and  he 
said  to  himself,  half  aloud,  "  Love  endures  every- 
thing, accepts  everything." 

"And  perspires  freely,"  said  a  fat  little  gentle- 
man whose  white  waistcoat  suddenly  came  within 
Cousin  Hans's  range  of  vision. 

"  Oh,  is  that  you,  uncle  ?"  he  said,  a  little  abashed. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  answered  Uncle  Frederick. 
"  I've  left  the  shady  side  of  the  street  expressly  to 
save  you  from  being  roasted.    Come  along  with  me." 

Thereupon  he  tried  to  drag  his  nephew  with  him, 
but  Hans  resisted.  "  Do  you  know  who  lives  at  No. 
34,  uncle  ?" 

"Not  in  the  least;  but  do  let  us  get  into  the 
shade,"  said  Uncle  Frederick;  for  there  were  two 
things  he  could  not  endure :  heat  and  laughter — 
the  first  on  account  of  his  corpulence,  and  the  sec- 
ond on  account  of  what  he  himself  called  "  his  apo- 
plectic tendencies." 


174  TALES   OF   TWO  COUNTRIES. 

"  By-the-bye,"  he  said,  when  they  reached  the  cool 
side  of  the  street,  and  he  had  taken  his  nephew  by 
the  arm,  "now  that  I  think  of  it,  I  do  know, 
quite  well,  who  lives  in  No.  34 ;  it's  old  Captain 
Schrappe." 

"  Do  you  know  him?"  asked  Cousin  Hans,  anx- 
iously. 

"Yes,  a  little,  just  as  half  the  town  knows  him, 
from  having  seen  him  on  the  esplanade,  where  he 
walks  every  day." 

"Yes,  that  was  just  where  I  saw  him,"  said  his 
nephew.  "What  an  interesting  old  gentleman  he 
looks.  I  should  like  so  much  to  have  a  talk  with 
him." 

"That  wish  you  can  easily  gratify,"  answered 
Uncle  Frederick.  "You  need  only  place  yourself 
anywhere  on  the  ramparts  and  begin  drawing  lines 
in  the  sand,  then  he'll  come  to  you." 

"Come  to  you?"  said  Cousin  Hans. 

"  Yes,  he'll  come  and  talk  to  you.  But  you  must 
be  careful :  he's  dangerous." 

"  Eh  ?"  said  Cousin  Hans. 

"  He  was  once  very  nearly  the  end  of  me." 

"  Ah !  said  Cousin  Hans. 

"  Yes,  with  his  talk,  you  understand." 

"  Oh  ?"  said  Cousin  Hans. 

"You  see,  he  has  two  stories,"  continued  Uncle 
Frederick,"  the  one,  about  a  sham  fight  in  Sweden, 
is  a  good  half-hour  long.  But  the  other,  the  battle 
of  Waterloo,  generally  lasts  from  an  hour  and  a 


THE   BATTLE   OF   WATERLOO.  1 75 

half  to  two  hours.  I  have  heard  it  three  times." 
And  Uncle  Frederick  sighed  deeply, 

"  Are  they  so  very  tedious,  then,  these  stories  ?" 
asked  Cousin  Hans. 

"  Oh,  they're  well  enough  for  once  in  a  way,"  an- 
swered his  uncle,  "  and  if  you  should  get  into  con- 
versation with  the  captain,  mark  what  I  tell  you : 
If  you  get  off  with  the  short  story,  the  Swedish  one, 
you  have  nothing  to  do  but  alternately  to  nod  and 
shake  your  head.  You'll  soon  pick  up  the  lay  of 
the  land." 

"  The  lay  of  the  land  ?"  said  Cousin  Hans. 

"  Yes,  you  must  know  that  he  draws  the  whole 
manoeuvre  for  you  in  the  sand ;  but  it's  easy  enough 
to  understand  if  only  you  keep  your  eye  on  A  and 
B.  There's  only  one  point  where  you  must  be 
careful  not  to  put  your  foot  in  it. " 

"  Does  he  get  impatient,  then,  if  you  don't  under- 
stand ?"  asked  Cousin  Hans. 

"No,  quite  the  contrary;  but  if  you  show  that 
you're  not  following,  he  begins  at  the  beginning 
again,  you  see !  The  crucial  point  in  the  sham 
fight,"  continued  his  uncle,  "is  the  movement  made 
by  the  captain  himself,  in  spite  of  the  general's 
orders,  which  equally  embarrassed  both  friends  and 
foes.  It  was  this  stroke  of  genius,  between  our- 
selves, which  forced  them  to  give  him  the  Order 
of  the  Sword,  to  induce  him  to  retire.  So  when 
you  come  to  this  point,  you  must  nod  violent- 
ly, and  say :  '  Of  course — the  only  reasonable  move 


176  TALES   OF  TWO  COUNTRIES. 

— the  key  to  the  position.'  Remember  that — the 
key." 

"  The  key,"  repeated  Cousin  Hans. 

"  But,"  said  his  uncle,  looking  at  him  with  antici- 
patory compassion,  "  if,  in  your  youthful  love  of  ad- 
venture, you  should  bring  on  yourself  the  long  story, 
the  one  about  Waterloo,  you  must  either  keep  quite 
silent  or  have  all  your  wits  about  you.  I  once  had 
to  swallow  the  whole  description  over  again,  only 
because,  in  my  eagerness  to  show  how  thoroughly 
I  understood  the  situation,  I  happened  to  move 
Kellermann's  dragoons  instead  of  Milhaud's  cui- 
rassiers !" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  moving  the  dragoons, 
uncle  ?"  asked  Cousin  Hans. 

"Oh,  you'll  understand  well  enough,  if  you  come 
in  for  the  long  one.  But,"  added  Uncle  Frederick, 
in  a  solemn  tone,  "  beware,  I  warn  you,  beware  of 
Blucher !" 

"  Bliicher  ?"  said  Cousin  Hans. 

"  I  won't  say  anything  more.  But  what  makes 
you  wish  to  know  about  this  old  original.'  What 
on  earth  do  you  want  with  him." 

"  Does  he  walk  there  every  forenoon  ?"  asked 
Hans. 

"  Every  forenoon,  from  eleven  to  one,  and  every 
afternoon,  from  five  to  seven.  But  what  inter- 
est—?" 

"  Has  he  many  children  ?"  interrupted  Hans. 

"  Only  one  daughter ;  but  what  the  deuce — ?" 


THE   BATTLE   OF   WATERLOO.  I'Jf 

"  Good  -  bye,  uncle !"  I  must  get  home  to  my 
books." 

"  Stop  a  bit !  Aren't  you  going  to  Aunt  Maren's 
this  evening  ?     She  asked  me  to  invite  you." 

"  No,  thanks,  I  haven't  time,"  shouted  Cousin 
Hans,  who  was  already  several  paces  away. 

"  There's  to  be  a  ladies'  party — young  ladies !" 
bawled  Uncle  Frederick ;  for  he  did  not  know  what 
had  come  over  his  nephew. 

But  Hans  shook  his  head  with  a  peculiar  ener- 
getic contempt,  and  disappeared  round  the  cor- 
ner. 

"  The  deuce  is  in  it,"  thought  Uncle  Frederick, 
"  the  boy  is  crazy,  or — oh,  I  have  it ! — he's  in  love ! 
He  was  standing  here,  babbling  about  love,  when  I 
found  him — outside  No.  34.  And  then  his  interest 
in  old  Schrappe !  Can  he  be  in  love  with  Miss 
Betty  ?  Oh,  no,"  thought  Uncle  Frederick,  shaking 
his  head,  as  he,  too,  continued  on  his  way,  '*  I  don't 
believe  he  has  sense  enough  for  that." 


II. 

Cousin  Hans  did  not  eat  much  dinner  that  day. 
People  in  love  never  eat  much,  and,  besides,  he  did 
not  care  for  rissoles. 

At  last  five  o'clock  struck.  He  had  already 
taken  up  his  position  on  the  ramparts,  whence  he 
could  survey  the  whole  esplanade.     Quite  right: 


178  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

there  came  the  black  frock-coat,  the  light  trousers, 
and  the  well-brushed  hat. 

'Cousin  Hans  felt  his  heart  palpitate  a  little.  At 
first  he  attributed  this  to  a  sense  of  shame  in  thus 
craftily  setting  a  trap  for  the  good  old  captain. 
But  he  soon  discovered  that  it  was  the  sight  of  the 
beloved  one's  father  that  set  his  blood  in  a  ferment. 
Thus  reassured,  he  began,  in  accordance  with  Un- 
cle Frederick's  advice,  to  draw  strokes  and  angles 
in  the  sand,  attentively  fixing  his  eyes,  from  time  to 
time,  upon  the  Castle  of  Akerhuus. 

The  whole  esplanade  was  quiet  and  deserted. 
Cousin  Hans  could  hear  the  captain's  firm  steps 
approaching;  they  came  right  up  to  him  and  stopped. 
Hans  did  not  look  up ;  the  captain  advanced  two 
more  paces  and  coughed.  Hans  drew  a  long  and 
profoundly  significant  stroke  with  his  stick,  and 
then  the  old  fellow  could  contain  himself  no  longer. 

"  Aha,  young  gentleman,"  he  said,  in  a  friendly 
tone,  taking  off  his  hat,  "  are  you  making  a  plan  of 
our  fortifications  ?" 

Cousin  Hans  assumed  the  look  of  one  who  is 
awakened  from  deep  contemplation,  and,  bowing 
politely,  he  answered  with  some  embarrassment : 
"  No,  it's  only  a  sort  of  habit  I  have  of  trying  to 
take  my  bearings  wherever  I  may  be." 

"  An  excellent  habit,  a  most  excellent  habit,"  the 
captain  exclaimed  with  warmth, 

"  It  strengthens  the  memory,"  Cousin  Hans  re- 
marked, modestly. 


THE    BATTLE    OF    WATERLOO.  1 79 

**  Certainly,  certainly,  sir !"  answered  the  captain, 
who  was  beginning  to  be  much  pleased  by  this 
modest  young  man. 

"  Especially  in  situations  of  any  complexity,"  con- 
tinued the  modest  young  man,  rubbing  out  his 
strokes  with  his  foot. 

"  Just  what  I  was  going  to  say !"  exclaimed  the 
captain,  delighted.  "  And,  as  you  may  well  believe, 
drawings  and  plans  are  especially  indispensable  in 
military  science.  Look  at  a  battle-field,  for  example." 

"Ah,  battles  are  altogether  too  intricate  for  me," 
Cousin  Hans  interrupted,  with  a  smile  of  humility. 

"Don't  say  that,  sir!"  answered  the  kindly  old 
man.  "  When  once  you  have  a  bird's-eye  view  of 
the  ground  and  of  the  positions  of  the  armies,  even 
a  tolerably  complicated  battle  can  be  made  quite 
comprehensible. — This  sand,  now,  that  we  have  be- 
fore us  here,  could  very  well  be  made  to  give  us  an 
idea,  in  miniature,  of,  for  example,  the  battle  of 
Waterloo." 

"  I  have  come  in  for  the  long  one,"  thought  Cous- 
in Hans,  "  but  never  mind  !*     I  love  her." 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  take  a  seat  on  the  bench  here," 
continued  the  captain,  whose  heart  was  rejoiced  at 
the  thought  of  so  intelligent  a  hearer,  "and  I  shall 
try  to  give  you  in  short  outline  a  picture  of  that  mo- 
mentous and  remarkable  battle — if  it  interests  you  ?" 

"Many   thanks,  sir,"  answered    Cousin    Hans, 

*  In  English  in  the  original. 


l8o  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

"  nothing  could  interest  me  more.  But  I'm  afraid 
you'll  find  it  terribly  hard  work  to  make  it  clear  to 
a  poor,  ignorant  civilian." 

"  By  no  means ;  the  whole  thing  is  quite  simple 
and  easy,  if  only  you  are  first  famiUar  with  the  lay 
of  the  land,"  the  amiable  old  gentleman  assured 
him,  as  he  took  his  seat  at  Hans's  side,  and  cast 
an  inquiring  glance  around. 

While  they  were  thus  seated.  Cousin  Hans  ex- 
amined the  captain  more  closely,  and  he  could  not 
but  admit  that  in  spite  of  his  sixty  years,  Captain 
Schrappe  was  still  a  handsome  man.  He  wore  his 
short,  iron-gray  mustaches  a  little  turned  up  at  the 
ends,  which  gave  him  a  certain  air  of  youthfulness. 
On  the  whole,  he  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to 
King  Oscar  the  First  on  the  old  sixpenny-pieces. 

And  as  the  captain  rose  and  began  his  disserta- 
tion, Cousin  Hans  decided  in  his  own  mind  that  he 
had  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  his  future 
father-in-law's  exterior. 

The  captain  took  up  a  position  in  a  corner  of 
the  ramparts,  a  few  paces  from  the  bench,  whence 
he  could  point  all  around  him  with  a  stick.  Cousin 
Hans  followed  what  he  said,  closely,  and  took  all 
possible  trouble  to  ingratiate  himself  with  his  future 
father-in-law. 

"  We  will  suppose,  then,  that  I  am  standing  here 
at  the  farm  of  Belle-Alliance,  where  the  Emperor 
has  his  headquarters ;  and  to  the  north — fourteen 
miles  from  Waterloo — we  have  Brussels,  that  is  to 


THE   BATTLE    OF   WATERLOO.  l8l 

say,  just  about  at  the  corner  of  the  gymnastic- 
school. 

"  The  road  there  along  the  rampart  is  the  high- 
way leading  to  Brussels,  and  here,"  the  captain 
rushed  over  the  plain  of  Waterloo,  "here  in  the 
grass  we  have  the  Forest  of  Soignies.  On  the 
highway  to  Brussels,  and  in  front  of  the  forest,  the 
English  are  stationed — you  must  imagine  the  north- 
em  part  of  the  battle-field  somewhat  higher  than  it 
is  here.  On  Wellington's  left  wing,  that  is  to  say, 
to  the  eastward — here  in  the  grass — we  have  the 
Chateau  of  Hougoumont;  that  must  be  marked," 
said  the  captain,  looking  about  him. 

The  serviceable  Cousin  Hans  at  once  found  a 
stick,  which  was  fixed  in  the  ground  at  this  impor- 
tant point. 

"  Excellent  1"  cried  the  captain,  who  saw  that  he 
had  found  an  interested  and  imaginative  listener. 
"You  see  it's  from  this  side  that  we  have  to  ex- 
pect the  Prussians." 

Cousin  Hans  noticed  that  the  captain  picked  up 
a  stone  and  placed  it  in  the  grass  with  an  air  of 
mystery. 

"Here  at  Hougoumont,"  the  old  man  contin- 
ued, "  the  battle  began.  It  was  Jerome  who  made 
the  first  attack.  He  took  the  wood ;  but  the  cha- 
teau held  out,  garrisoned  by  Wellington's  best 
troops. 

"  In  the  mean  time  Napoleon,  here  at  Belle- Alli- 
ance, was  on  the  point  of  giving  Marshal  Ney  or- 


l82  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

ders  to  commence  the  main  attack  upon  Welling- 
ton's centre,  when  he  observed  a  column  of  troops 
approaching  from  the  east,  behind  the  bench,  over 
there  by  tree." 

Cousin  Hans  looked  round,  and  began  to  feel 
uneasy :  could  Blucher  be  here  already  ? 

"  Blii — Blvi — "  he  murmured,  tentatively, 

"  It  was  Billow,"  the  captain  fortunately  went 
on, "  who  approached  with  thirty  thousand  Prus- 
sians. Napoleon  made  his  arrangements  hastily 
to  meet  this  new  enemy,  never  doubting  that 
Grouchy,  at  any  rate,  was  following  close  on  the 
Prussians'  heels.     , 

"  You  see,  the  Emperor  had  on  the  previous  day 
detached  Marshal  Grouchy  with  the  whole  right 
wing  of  the  army,  about  fifty  thousand  men,  to 
hold  Blucher  and  Biilow  in  check.  But  Grouchy 
— but  of  course  all  this  is  familiar  to  you — "  the 
captain  broke  off. 

Cousin  Hans  nodded  reassuringly. 

"  Ney,  accordingly,  began  the  attack  with  his 
usual  intrepidity.  But  the  English  cavalry  hurled 
themselves  upon  the  Frenchmen,  broke  their  ranks, 
and  forced  them  back  with  the  loss  of  two  eagles 
and  several  cannons.  Milhaud  rushes  to  the  rescue 
with  his  cuirassiers,  and  the  Emperor  himself,  see- 
ing the  danger,  puts  spurs  to  his  horse  and  gallops 
down  the  incline  of  Belle-Alliance." 

Away  rushed  the  captain,  prancing  like  a  horse, 
in  his  eagerness  to  show  how  the  Emperor  rode 


THE   BATTLE    OF   WATERLOO.  1 83 

through  thick  and  thin,  rallied  Ney's  troops,  and 
sent  them  forward  to  a  fresh  attack. 

Whether  it  was  that  there  lurked  a  bit  of  the 
poet  in  Cousin  Hans,  or  that  the  captain's  repre- 
sentation was  really  very  vivid,  or  that — and  this  is 
probably  the  true  explanation — he  was  in  love  with 
the  captain's  daughter,  certain  it  is  that  Cousin 
Hans  was  quite  carried  away  by  the  situation. 

He  no  longer  saw  a  queer  old  captain  prancing 
sideways ;  he  saw,  through  the  cloud  of  smoke,  the 
Emperor  himself  on  his  white  horse  with  the  black 
eyes,  as  we  know  it  from  the  engravings.  He  tore 
away  over  hedge  and  ditch,  over  meadow  and  gar- 
den, his  staff  with  difficulty  keeping  up  with  him. 
Cool  and  calm,  he  sat  firmly  in  his  saddle,  with  his 
half- unbuttoned  gray  coat,  his  white  breeches,  and 
his  little  hat,  crosswise  on  his  head.  His  face  ex- 
pressed neither  weariness  nor  anxiety ;  smooth  and 
pale  as  marble,  it  gave  to  the  whole  figure  in  the 
simple  uniform  on  the  white  horse  an  exalted,  al- 
most a  spectral,  aspect. 

Thus  he  swept  on  his  course,  this  sanguinary 
little  monster,  who  in  three  days  had  fought  three 
battles.  All  hastened  to  clear  the  way  for  him, 
flying  peasants,  troops  in  reserve  or  advancing — 
aye,  even  the  wounded  and  dpng  dragged  them- 
selves aside,  and  looked  up  at  him  with  a  mixture 
of  terror  and  admiration,  as  he  tore  past  them  like 
a  cold  thunderbolt 

Scarcely  had  he  shown  himself  among  the  sol- 


184  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

diers  before  they  all  fell  into  order  as  though  by 
magic,  and  a  moment  afterwards  the  undaunted 
Ney  could  once  more  vault  into  the  saddle  to  re- 
new the  attack.  And  this  time  he  bore  down  the 
English  and  established  himself  in  the  farm-house 
of  La  Haie-Sainte. 

Napoleon  is  once  more  at  Belle-Alliance. 

"And  now  here  comes  Biilow  from  the  east — under 
the  bench  here,  you  see — and  the  Emperor  sends 
General  Mouton  to  meet  him.  At  half-past  four 
(the  battle  had  begun  at  one  o'clock)  Wellington 
attempts  to  drive  Ney  out  of  La  Haie-Sainte.  But 
Ney,  who  now  saw  that  everything  depended  on 
obtaining  possession  of  the  ground  in  front  of  the 
wood — the  sand  here  by  the  border  of  the  grass," 
the  captain  threw  his  glove  over  to  the  spot  indi- 
cated, "  Ney,  you  see,  calls  up  the  reserve  brigade 
of  Milhaud's  cuirassiers  and  hurls  himself  at  the 
enemy. 

"  Presently  his  men  were  seen  upon  the  heights, 
and  already  the  people  around  the  Emperor  were 
shouting  *  Victoire !' 

"  *  It  is  an  hour  too  late,'  answered  Napoleon. 

"  As  he  now  saw  that  the  Marshal  in  his  new  po- 
sition was  suffering  much  from  the  enemy's  fire, 
he  determined  to  go  to  his  assistance,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  to  try  to  crush  Wellington  at  one  blow. 
He  chose  for  the  execution  of  this  plan,  Keller- 
mann's  famous  dragoons  and  the  heavy  cavalry  of 
the  guard.    Now  comes  one  of  the  crucial  moments 


THE   BATTLE   OF   WATERLOO.  185 

of  the  fight ;  you  must  come  out  here  upon  the 
battle-field !" 

Cousin  Hans  at  once  rose  from  the  bench  and 
took  the  position  the  captain  pointed  out  to  him. 

"  Now  you  are  Wellington  1"  Cousin  Hans  drew 
himself  up.  "  You  are  standing  there  on  the  plain 
with  the  greater  part  of  the  English  infantry.  Here 
comes  the  whole  of  the  French  cavalry  rushing 
down  upon  you.  Milhaud  has  joined  Kellermann ; 
they  form  an  illimitable  multitude  of  horses,  breast- 
plates, plumes  and  shining  weapons.  Surround 
yourself  with  a  square !" 

Cousin  Hans  stood  for  a  moment  bewildered; 
but  presently  he  understood  the  captain's  meaning. 
He  hastily  drew  a  square  of  deep  strokes  around 
him  in  the  sand. 

"  Right !"  cried  the  captain,  beaming,  "  Now  the 
Frenchmen  cut  into  the  square ;  the  ranks  break, 
but  join  again,  the  cavalry  wheels  away  and  gathers 
for  a  fresh  attack.  Wellington  has  at  every  mo- 
ment to  surround  himself  with  a  new  square. 

"  The  French  cavalry  fight  like  lions  :  the  proud 
memories  of  the  Emperor's  campaigns  fill  them 
with  that  confidence  of  victory  which  made  his 
armies  invincible.  They  fight  for  victory,  for  glory, 
for  the  French  eagles,  and  for  the  little  cold  man 
who,  they  know,  stands  on  the  height  behind  them ; 
whose  eye  follows  every  single  man,  who  sees  all, 
and  forgets  nothing. 

"  But  to-day  they  have  an  enemy  who  is  not  easy 


l86  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

to  deal  with.  They  stand  where  they  stand,  these 
Englishmen,  and  if  they  are  forced  a  step  back- 
wards, they  regain  their  position  the  next  moment. 
They  have  no  eagles  and  no  Emperor ;  when  they 
fight  they  think  neither  of  military  glory  nor  of  re- 
venge; but  they  think  of  home.  The  thought  of 
never  seeing  again  the  oak-trees  of  Old  England  is 
the  most  melancholy  an  Englishman  knows.  Ah, 
no,  there  is  one  which  is  still  worse :  that  of  com- 
ing home  dishonored.  And  when  they  think  that 
the  proud  fleet,  which  they  know  is  lying  to  the 
northward  waiting  for  them,  would  deny  them  the 
honor  of  a  salute,  and  that  Old  England  would  not 
recognize  her  sons — then  they  grip  their  muskets 
tighter,  they  forget  their  wounds  and  their  flowing 
blood ;  silent  and  grim,  they  clinch  their  teeth,  and 
hold  their  post,  and  die  like  men." 

Twenty  times  were  the  squares  broken  and  re- 
formed, and  twelve  thousand  brave  Englishmen  fell. 
Cousin  Hans  could  understand  how  Wellington 
wept,  when  he  said,  "  Night  or  Bliicher  !" 

The  captain  had  in  the  mean  time  left  Belle- Alli- 
ance, and  was  spying  around  in  the  grass  behind  the 
bench,  while  he  continued  his  exposition  which  grew 
more  and  more  vivid:  "Wellington  was  now  in  reali- 
ty beaten  and  a  total  defeat  was  inevitable,"  cried 
the  captain,  in  a  sombre  voice,  "when  this  fellow  ap- 
peared on  the  scene  !"  And  as  he  said  this,  he  kick- 
ed the  stone  which  Cousin  Hans  had  seen  him  con- 
cealing, so  that  it  rolled  in  upon  the  field  of  battle. 


THE    BATTLE    OF   WATERLOO.  1 87 

"  Now  or  never,"  thought  Cousin  Hans. 

"  Bliicher !"  he  cried. 

"  Exactly !"  answered  the  captain,  "  it's  the  old 
werewolf  Bliicher,  who  comes  marching  upon  the 
field  with  his  Prussians." 

So  Grouchy  never  came ;  there  was  Napoleon, 
deprived  of  his  whole  right  wing,  and  facing  150,000 
men.  But  with  never-failing  coolness  he  gives  his 
orders  for  a  great  change  of  front. 

But  it  was  too  late,  and  the  odds  were  too  vast. 

Wellington,  who,  by  Bliicher's  arrival,  was  en- 
abled to  bring  his  reserve  into  play,  now  ordered 
his  whole  army  to  advance.  And  yet  once  more 
the  Allies  were  forced  to  pause  for  a  moment  by  a 
furious  charge  led  by  Ney — the  lion  of  the  day. 

"  Do  you  see  him  there !"  cried  the  captain,  his 
eyes  flashing. 

And  Cousin  Hans  saw  him,  the  romantic  hero, 
Duke  of  Elchingen,  Prince  of  Moskwa,  son  of  a 
cooper  in  Saarlouis,  Marshal  and  Peer  of  France. 
He  saw  him  rush  onward  at  the  head  of  his  battal- 
ions— five  horses  had  been  shot  under  him — with 
his  sword  in  his  hand,  his  uniform  torn  to  shreds, 
hatless,  and  with  the  blood  streaming  down  his 
face. 

And  the  battalions  rallied  and  swept  ahead; 
they  followed  their  Prince  of  Moskwa,  their  sa- 
vior at  the  Beresina,  into  the  hopeless  struggle  for 
the  Emperor  and  for  France.  Little  did  they 
dream  that,  six  months  later,  the  King  of  France 


l88  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

would  have  their  dear  prince  shot  as  a  traitor  to  his 
country  in  the  gardens  of  the  Luxembourg. 

There  he  rushed  around,  rallying  and  directing 
his  troops,  until  there  was  nothing  more  for  the 
general  to  do ;  then  he  plied  his  sword  like  a  com- 
mon soldier  until  all  was  over,  and  he  was  carried 
away  in  the  rout.     For  the  French  army  fled. 

The  Emperor  threw  himself  into  the  throng ;  but 
the  terrible  hubbub  drowned  his  voice,  and  in  the 
twilight  no  one  knew  the  little  man  on  the  white 
horse. 

Then  he  took  his  stand  in  a  little  square  of  his 
Old  Guard,  which  still  held  out  upon  the  plain  ;  he 
would  fain  have  ended  his  life  on  his  last  battle- 
field. But  his  generals  flocked  around  him,  and  the 
old  grenadiers  shouted :  "  Withdraw,  Sire !  Death 
will  not  have  you." 

They  did  not  know  that  it  was  because  the  Em- 
peror had  forfeited  his  right  to  die  as  a  French  sol- 
dier. They  led  him  half-resisting  from  the  field ; 
and,  unknown  in  his  own  army,  he  rode  away  into 
the  darkness  of  the  night,  having  lost  everything. 
"  So  ended  the  battle  of  Waterloo,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, as  he  seated  himself  on  the  bench  and  ar- 
ranged his  neck-cloth. 

— Cousin  Hans  thought  with  indignation  of  Un- 
cle Frederick,  who  had  spoken  of  Captain  Schrappe 
in  such  a  tone  of  superiority.  He  was,  at  least,  a 
far  more  interesting  personage  than  an  old  official 
mill-horse  like  Uncle  Frederick. 


THE   BATTLE    OF  WATERLOO.  189 

Hans  now  went  about  and  gathered  up  the  gloves 
and  other  small  objects  which  the  generals,  in  the 
heat  of  the  fight,  had  scattered  over  the  battle-field 
to  mark  the  positions ;  and,  as  he  did  so,  he  stum- 
bled upon  old  Bliicher.  He  picked  him  up  and 
examined  him  carefully. 

He  was  a  hard  lump  of  granite,  knubbly  as  sugar- 
candy,  which  almost  seemed  to  bear  a  personal  re- 
semblance to  "  Feldtmarschall  Vorwarts."  Hans 
turned  to  the  captain  with  a  polite  bow. 

"  Will  you  allow  me,  captain,  to  keep  this  stone. 
It  will  be  the  best  possible  memento  of  this  inter- 
esting and  instructive  conversation,  for  which  I  am 
really  most  grateful  to  you."  And  thereupon  he 
put  Bliicher  into  his  coat-tail  pocket. 

The  captain  assured  him  that  it  had  been  a  real 
pleasure  to  him  to  observe  the  interest  with  which 
his  young  friend  had  followed  the  exposition.  And 
this  was  nothing  but  the  truth,  for  he  was  posi- 
tively enraptured  with  Cousin  Hans. 

"  Come  and  sit  down  now,  young  man.  We  de- 
serve a  little  rest  after  a  ten-hours'  battle,"  he  added, 
smiling. 

Cousin  Hans  seated  himself  on  the  bench  and 
felt  his  collar  with  some  anxiety.  Before  coming 
out,  he  had  put  on  the  most  fascinating  one  his 
wardrobe  afforded.  Fortunately,  it  had  retained 
its  stiffness ;  but  he  felt  the  force  of  Wellington's 
words:  "  Night  or  Bliicher" — ^for  it  would  not  have 
held  out  much  longer. 


190  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

It  was  fortunate,  too,  that  the  warm  afternoon 
sun  had  kept  strollers  away  from  the  esplanade. 
Otherwise  a  considerable  audience  would  probably 
have  gathered  around  these  two  gentlemen,  who 
went  on  gesticulating  with  their  arms,  and  now  and 
then  prancing  around. 

They  had  had  only  one  on-looker  —  the  sentry 
who  stands  at  the  corner  of  the  gymnastic-school. 

His  curiosity  had  enticed  him  much  too  far  from 
his  post,  for  he  had  marched  several  leagues  along 
the  highway  from  Brussels  to  Waterloo.  The  cap- 
tain would  certainly  have  called  him  to  order  long 
ago  for  this  dereliction  of  duty  but  for  the  fact  that 
the  inquisitive  private  had  been  of  great  strategic 
importance.  He  represented,  as  he  stood  there, 
the  whole  of  Wellington's  reserve  ;  and  now  that 
the  battle  was  over  the  reserve  retired  in  good  or- 
der northward  towards  Brussels,  and  again  took  up 
ie  paste  perdu  at  the  corner  of  the  gymnastic-school. 


III. 

"  Suppose  you  come  home  and  have  some  sup- 
per with  me,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  my  house  is  very 
quiet,  but  I  think  perhaps  a  young  man  of  your 
character  may  have  no  great  objection  to  passing 
an  evening  in  a  quiet  family." 

Cousin  Hans's  heart  leaped  high  with  joy,  he 


THE  BATTLE  OF  WATERLOO.        191 

accepted  the  invitation  in  the  modest  manner  pe- 
culiar to  him,  and  they  were  soon  on  the  way  to 
No.  34. 

How  curiously  fortune  favored  him  to-day !  Not 
many  hours  had  passed  since  he  saw  her  for  the 
first  time  -,  and  now,  in  the  character  of  a  special 
favorite  of  her  father,  he  was  hastening  to  pass  the 
evening  in  her  company. 

The  nearer  they  approached  to  No.  34,  in  the 
more  life-like  colors  did  the  enchanting  vision  of 
Miss  Schrappe  stand  before  his  eyes ;  the  blonde 
hair  curling  over  the  forehead,  the  lithe  figure,  and 
then  these  roguish,  light-blue  eyes  ! 

His  heart  beat  so  that  he  could  scarcely  speak, 
and  as  they  mounted  the  stair  he  had  to  take  firm 
hold  of  the  railing ;  his  happiness  made  him  almost 
dizzy. 

In  the  parlor,  a  large  corner-room,  they  found  no 
one.  The  captain  went  out  to  summon  his  daugh- 
ter, and  Hans  heard  him  calling,  "  Betty !" 

Betty !  What  a  lovely  name,  and  how  well  it 
suited  that  lovely  being ! 

The  happy  lover  was  already  thinking  how  de- 
lightful it  would  be  when  he  came  home  from  his 
work  at  dinner-time,  and  could  call  out  into  the 
kitchen :  "  Betty !  is  dinner  ready  ?" 

At  this  moment  the  captain  entered  the  room 
again  with  his  daughter.  She  came  straight  up  to 
Cousin  Hans,  took  his  hand,  and  bade  him  welcome. 

But  she  added,  "  You  must  really  excuse  me  de- 


192  TALES   OF   TWO  COUNTRIES. 

setting  you  again  at  once,  for  I  am  in  the  middle  of 
a  dish  of  buttered  eggs,  and  that's  no  joke,  I  can 
tell  you." 

Thereupon  she  disappeared  again ;  the  captain 
also  withdrew  to  prepare  for  the  meal,  and  Cousin 
Hans  was  once  more  alone. 

The  whole  meeting  had  not  lasted  many  seconds, 
and  yet  it  seemed  to  Cousin  Hans  that  in  these 
moments  he  had  toppled  from  ledge  to  ledge,  many 
fathoms  down,  into  a  deep,  black  pit.  He  supported 
himself  with  both  hands  against  an  old,  high-backed 
easy-chair ;  he  neither  heard,  saw,  nor  thought ;  but 
half  mechanically  he  repeated  to  himself :  "  It  was 
not  she — it  was  not  she  !" 

No,  it  was  not  she.  The  lady  whom  he  had  just 
seen,  and  who  must  consequently  be  Miss  Schrappe, 
had  not  a  trace  of  blonde  hair  curling  over  her  brow. 
On  the  contrary,  she  had  dark  hair,  smoothed  down 
to  both  sides  Her  eyes  were  not  in  the  least  ro- 
guish or  light  blue,  but  serious  and  dark-gray — in 
short,  she  was  as  unlike  the  charmer  as  possible. 

After  his  first  paralysis.  Cousin  Hans's  blood  be- 
gan to  boil ;  a  violent  anguish  seized  him :  he  raged 
against  the  captain,  against  Miss  Schrappe,  against 
Uncle  Frederick  and  Wellington,  and  the  whole 
world. 

He  would  smash  the  big  mirror  and  all  the  furni- 
ture, and  then  jump  out  of  the  comer  window ;  or 
he  would  take  his  hat  and  stick,  rush  down-stairs, 
leave  the  house,  and  never  more  set  foot  in  it ;  or 


THE   BATTLE   OF  WATERLOO.  I93 

he  would  at  least  remain  no  longer  than  was  abso- 
lutely necessary. 

Little  by  little  he  became  calmer,  but  a  deep  mel- 
ancholy descended  upon  him.  He  had  felt  the  un- 
speakable agony  of  disappointment  in  his  first  love, 
and  when  his  eye  fell  on  his  own  image  in  the  mir- 
ror, he  shook  his  head  compassionately. 

The  captain  now  returned,  well-brushed  and  spick 
and  span.  He  opened  a  conversation  about  the 
politics  of  the  day.  ,  It  was  with  diflficulty  that  Cous- 
in Hans  could  even  give  short  and  commonplace 
answers ;  it  seemed  as  though  all  that  had  interest- 
ed him  in  Captain  Schrappe  had  entirely  evapora- 
ted. And  now  Hans  remembered  that  on  the  way 
home  from  the  esplanade  he  had  promised  to  give 
him  the  whole  sham  fight  in  Sweden  after  sup- 
per. 

"  Will  you  come,  please ;  supper  is  ready,"  said 
Miss  Betty,  opening  the  door  into  the  dining-room, 
which  was  lighted  with  candles. 

Cousin  Hans  could  not  help  eating,  for  he  was 
hungry ;  but  he  looked  down  at  his  plate  and  spoke 
little. 

Thus  the  conversation  was  at  first  confined  for 
the  most  part  to  the  father  and  daughter.  The 
captain,  who  thought  that  this  bashful  young  man 
was  embarrassed  by  Miss  Betty's  presence,  wanted 
to  give  him  time  to  collect  himself. 

"  How  is  it  you  haven't  invited  Miss  Beck  this 
evening,  since  she's  leaving  town  to-morrow,"  said 
'3 


194  TALES   OF  TWO  COUNTRIES. 

the  old  man.  "  You  two  could  have  entertained 
our  guest  with  some  duets." 

"  I  asked  her  to  stay,  when  she  was  here  this 
afternoon  ;  but  she  was  engaged  to  a  farewell  party 
with  some  other  people  she  knows." 

Cousin  Hans  pricked  up  his  ears ;  could  this  be 
the  lady  of  the  morning  that  they  were  speaking 
about  ? 

*'I  told  you  she  came  down  to  the  esplanade 
to  say  good-bye  to  me,"  continued  the  captain. 
"  Poor  girl !     I'm  really  sorry  for  her." 

There  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — are  you  speaking  of  a  lady 
with  curly  hair  and  large  blue  eyes  ?"  asked  Cousin 
Hans. 

**  Exactly,"  answered  the  captain,  *'  do  you  know 
Miss  Beck  ?" 

**  No,"  answered  Hans,  "  it  only  occurred  to  me 
that  it  might  be  a  lady  I  met  down  on  the  esplanade 
about  twelve  o'clock." 

"No  doubt  it  was  she"  said  the  captain.  "A 
pretty  girl,  isn't  she  ?" 

"  I  thought  her  beautiful,"  answered  Hans,  with 
conviction.  "  Has  she  had  any  trouble  ? — I  thought 
I  heard  you  say" — 

"  Well,  yes ;  you  see  she  was  engaged  for  some 
months" — 

"  Nine  weeks,"  interrupted  Miss  Betty. 

*'  Indeed  !  was  that  all  ?  At  any  rate  her  fianci 
has  just  broken  off  the  engagement,  and  that's  why 


THE  BATTLE  OF  WATERLOO.        195 

she  is  going  away  for  a  little  while — very  naturally 
— to  some  relations  in  the  west-country,  I  think." 

So  she  had  been  engaged — only  for  nine  weeks, 
indeed  —  but  still,  it  was  a  little  disappointing. 
However,  Cousin  Hans  understood  human  natuire, 
and  he  had  seen  enough  of  her  that  morning  to 
know  that  her  feelings  towards  her  recreant  lover 
could  not  have  been  true  love.     So  he  said : 

"  If  it's  the  lady  I  saw  to-day,  she  seemed  to  take 
the  matter  pretty  lightly." 

"That's  just  what  I  blame  her  for,"  answered 
Miss  Betty. 

"  Why  so  ?"  answered  Cousin  Hans,  a  little  sharp- 
ly; for,  on  the  whole,  he  did  not  like  the  way  in 
which  the  young  lady  made  her  remarks.  "  Would 
you  have  had  her  mope  and  pine  away  ?" 

"  No,  not  at  all,"  answered  Miss  Schrappe ;  "  but, 
in  my  opinion,  it  would  have  shown  more  strength 
of  character  if  she  had  felt  more  indignant  at  her 
fiance's  conduct." 

"  I  should  say,  on  the  contrary,  that  it  shows  most 
admirable  strength  of  character  that  she  should 
bear  no  ill-will  and  feel  no  anger;  for  a  woman's 
strength  lies  in  forgiveness,"  said  Cousin  Hans,  who 
grew  eloquent  in  defence  of  his  lady-love. 

Miss  Betty  thought  that  if  people  in  general 
would  show  more  indignation  when  an  engagement 
was  broken  off,  as  so  often  happened,  perhaps 
young  people  would  be  more  cautious  in  these 
matters. 


J 96  TALES   OF   TWO   COUNTRIES. 

Cousin  Hans,  on  the  other  hand,  was  of  opinion 
that  when  a  fianck  discovered,  or  even  suspected, 
that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  and  that  what  he  had 
taken  for  love  was  not  the  real,  true,  and  genuine 
article,  he  was  not  only  bound  to  break  off  the 
engagement  with  all  possible  speed,  but  it  was  the 
positive  duty  of  the  other  party,  and  of  all  friends 
and  acquaintances,  to  excuse  and  forgive  him,  and  to 
say  as  little  as  possible  about  the  matter,  in  order 
that  it  might  the  sooner  be  forgotten. 

Miss  Betty  answered  hastily  that  she  did  not 
think  it  at  all  the  right  thing  that  young  people 
should  enter  into  experimental  engagements  while 
they  keep  a  look  out  for  true  love. 

This  remark  greatly  irritated  Cousin  Hans,  but 
he  had  no  time  to  reply,  for  at  that  moment  the 
captain  rose  from  the  table. 

There  was  something  about  Miss  Schrappe  that 
he  really  could  not  endure ;  and  he  was  so  much 
absorbed  in  this  thought  that,  for  a  time,  he  almost 
forgot  the  melancholy  intelligence  that  the  beloved 
one — Miss  Beck — was  leaving  town  to-morrow 

He  could  not  but  admit  that  the  captain's  daugh- 
ter was  pretty,  very  pretty ;  she  seemed  to  be  both 
domestic  and  sensible,  and  it  was  clear  that  she 
devoted  herself  to  her  old  father  with  touching  ten- 
derness. And  yet  Cousin  Hans  said  to  himself: 
"  Poor  thing,  who  would  want  to  marry  her  ?" 

For  she  was  entirely  devoid  of  that  charming 
helplessness  which  is  so  attractive  in  a  young  girl ; 


THE    BATTLE    OF  WATERLOO.  197 

when  she  spoke,  it  was  with  an  almost  odious  re- 
pose and  decision.  She  never  came  in  with  any  of 
those  fascinating  half- finished  sentences,  such  as 
"Oh,  I  don't  know  if  you  understand  me — there 
are  so  few  people  that  understand  me — I  don't 
know  how  to  express  what  I  mean ;  but  I  feel  it  so 
strongly."  In  short,  there  was  about  Miss  Schrappe 
nothing  of  that  vagueness  and  mystery  which  is 
woman's  most  exquisite  charm. 

Furthermore,  he  had  a  suspicion  that  she  was 
"  learned."  And  every  one,  surely,  must  agree  with 
Cousin  Hans  that  if  a  woman  is  to  fulfil  her  mis- 
sion in  this  life  (that  is  to  say,  to  be  a  man's  wife) 
she  ought  clearly  to  have  no  other  acquirements 
than  those  her  husband  wishes  her  to  have,  or  him- 
self confers  upon  her.  Any  other  fund  of  knowl- 
edge must  always  be  a  dowry  of  exceedingly  doubt- 
ful value. 

Cousin  Hans  was  in  the  most  miserable  of  moods. 
It  was  only  eight  o'clock,  and  he  did  not  think  it 
would  do  to  take  his  departure  before  half-past  nine. 
The  captain  had  already  settled  himself  at  the  ta- 
ble, prepared  to  begin  the  sham-fight.  There  was  no 
chance  of  escape,  and  Hans  took  a  seat  at  his  side. 

Opposite  to  him  sat  Miss  Betty,  with  her  sewing, 
and  with  a  book  in  front  of  her.  He  leaned  for- 
ward and  discovered  that  it  was  a  German  novel 
of  the  modern  school. 

It  was  precisely  one  of  those  works  which  Hans 
was  wont  to  praise  loudly  when  he  developed  his 


igS  TALES   OF  TWO   COUNTRIES. 

advanced  views,  colored  with  a  little  dash  of  free- 
thought.  But  to  find  this  book  here,  in  a  lady's 
hands,  and,  what  was  more,  in  German  (Hans  had 
read  it  in  a  translation),  was  in  the  last  degree  un- 
pl easing  to  him. 

Accordingly,  when  Miss  Betty  asked  if  he  liked 
the  novel,  he  answered  that  it  was  one  of  the  books 
which  should  only  be  read  by  men  of  ripened  judg- 
ment and  established  principles,  and  that  it  was  not 
at  all  suited  for  ladies. 

He  saw  that  the  girl  flushed,  and  he  felt  that  he 
had  been  rude.  But  he  was  really  feeling  desper- 
ate, and,  besides,  there  was  something  positively 
irritating  in  this  superior  little  person. 

He  was  intensely  worried  and  bored ;  and,  to 
fulfil  the  measure  of  his  suffering,  the  captain  began 
to  make  Battalion  B  advance  "  under  cover  of  the 
night." 

Cousin  Hans  now  watched  the  captain  moving 
match-boxes,  penknives,  and  other  small  objects 
about  the  table.  He  nodded  now  and  then,  but  he 
did  not  pay  the  slightest  attention.  He  thought 
of  the  lovely  Miss  Beck,  whom  he  was,  perhaps, 
never  to  see  again ;  and  now  and  then  he  stole  a 
glance  at  Miss  Schrappe,  to  whom  he  had  been  so 
rude. 

He  gave  a  sudden  start  as  the  captain  slapped 
him  on  the  shoulder,  with  the  words,  "  And  it  was 
this  point  that  I  was  to  occupy.  What  do  you  think 
of  that?" 


THE   BATTLE  OF   WATERLOO.  1 99 

Uncle  Frederick's  words  flashed  across  Cousin 
Hans's  mind,  and,  nodding  vehemently,  he  said : 
"  Of  course,  the  only  thing  to  be  done — the  key  to 
the  position  ?" 

The  captain  started  back  and  became  quite  seri- 
ous. But  when  he  saw  Cousin  Hans's  disconcerted 
expression,  his  good-nature  got  the  upperhand,  and 
he  laughed  and  said  : 

*'  No,  my  dear  sir !  there  you're  quite  mistaken. 
However,"  he  added,  with  a  quiet  smile,  "  it's  a 
mistake  which  you  share  with  several  of  our  high- 
est military  authorities.  No,  now  let  me  show  you 
the  key  to  the  position." 

And  then  he  began  to  demonstrate  at  large  that 
the  point  which  he  had  been  ordered  to  occupy 
was  quite  without  strategical  importance ;  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  movement  which  he  made  on 
his  own  responsibility  placed  the  enemy  in  the 
direst  embarrassment,  and  would  have  delayed  the 
advance  of  Corps  B  by  several  hours. 

Tired  and  dazed  as  Cousin  Hans  was,  he  could 
not  help  admiring  the  judicious  course  adopted  by 
the  military  authorities  towards  Captain  Schrappe, 
if,  indeed,  there  was  anything  in  Uncle  Frederick's 
story  about  the  Order  of  the  Sword. 

For  if  the  captain's  original  manoeuvre  was,  stra- 
tegically speaking,  a  stroke  of  genius,  it  was  un- 
doubtedly right  that  he  should  receive  a  decora- 
tion. But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  no  less  clear 
that  the  man  who  could  suppose  that  in  a  sham- 


200  TALES    OF    TWO    COUNTRIES. 

fight  it  was  in  the  least  desirable  to  delay  or  embar- 
ass  any  one  was  quite  out  of  place  in  an  army  like 
ours.  He  ought  to  have  known  that  the  true  ob- 
ject of  the  manoeuvres  was  to  let  the  opposing 
armies,  with  their  baggage  and  commissariat  wag- 
ons, meet  at  a  given  time  and  in  a  given  place,  there 
to  have  a  general  picnic. 

While  Hans  was  buried  in  these  thoughts,  the  cap- 
tain finished  the  sham-fight.  He  was  by  no  means 
so  pleased  with  his  listener  as  he  had  been  upon 
the  esplanade ;  he  seemed,  somehow,  to  have  be- 
come absent-minded. 

It  was  now  nine  o'clock ;  but,  as  Cousin  Hans 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  hold  out  till 
half-past  nine,  he  dragged  through  one  of  the  long- 
est half-hours  that  had  ever  come  within  his  expe- 
rience. The  captain  grew  sleepy.  Miss  Betty  gave 
short  and  dry  answers  ;  Hans  had  himself  to  pro- 
vide the  conversation — weary,  out  of  temper,  un- 
happy and  love-sick  as  he  was. 

At  last  the  clock  was  close  upon  half-past  nine ; 
he  rose,  explaining  that  he  was  accustomed  to  go 
early  to  bed,  because  he  could  read  best  when  he 
got  up  at  six  o'clock. 

"Well, well,"  said  the  captain,  "do  you  call  this 
going  early  to  bed  ?  I  assure  you  I  always  turn  in 
at  nine  o'clock." 

Vexation  on  vexation !  Hans  said  good  -  night 
hastily,  and  rushed  down-stairs. 

The  captain  accompanied  him  to  the  landing, 


THE    BATTLE    OF    WATERLOO.  201 

candle  in  hand,  and  called  after  him  cordially, 
"Good-night — happy  to  see  you  again." 

*'  Thanks  !"  shouted  Hans  from  below ;  but  he 
vowed  in  his  inmost  soul  that  he  would  never  set 
foot  in  that  house  again. — 

— When  the  old  man  returned  to  the  parlor,  he 
found  his  daughter  busy  opening  the  windows. 

"  What  are  you  doing  that  for  ?"  asked  the  captain. 

"  I'm  airing  the  room  after  him,"  answered  Miss 
Betty. 

"  Come,  come,  Betty,  you  are  really  too  hard  upon 
him.  But  I  must  admit  that  the  young  gentleman 
did  not  improve  upon  closer  acquaintance.  I  don't 
understand  young  people  nowadays." 

Thereupon  the  captain  retired  to  his  bedroom, 
after  giving  his  daughter  the  usual  evening  exhor- 
tation, "  Now  don't  sit  up  too  long." 

When  she  was  left  alone.  Miss  Betty  put  out  the 
lamp,  moved  the  flowers  away  from  the  comer  win- 
dow, and  seated  herself  on  the  window-sill  with  her 
feet  upon  a  chair. 

On  clear  moonlight  evenings  she  could  descry  a 
little  strip  of  the  fiord  between  two  high  houses. 
It  was  not  much ;  but  it  was  a  glimpse  of  the  great 
highway  that  leads  to  the  south,  and  to  foreign  lands. 

And  her  desires  and  longings  flew  away,  following 
the  same  course  which  has  wearied  the  wings  of  so 
many  a  longing — down  the  narrow  fiord  to  the  south, 
where  the  horizon  is  wide,  where  the  heart  expands, 
and  the  thoughts  grow  great  and  daring. 


202  TALES   OF  TWO   COUNTRIES. 

And  Miss  Betty  sighed  as  she  gazed  at  the  little 
strip  of  the  fiord  which  she  could  see  between  the 
two  high  houses. 

— She  gave  no  thought,  as  she  sat  there,  to  Cousin 
Hans  ;  but  he  thought  of  Miss  Schrappe  as  he 
passed  with  hasty  steps  up  the  street. 

Never  had  he  met  a  young  lady  who  was  less  to 
his  taste.  The  fact  that  he  had  been  rude  to  her 
did  not  make  him  like  her  better.  We  are  not  im- 
clined  to  find  those  people  amiable  who  have  been 
the  occasion  of  misbehavior  on  our  own  part.  It 
was  a  sort  of  comfort  to  him  to  repeat  to  himself, 
"Who  would  want  to  marry  her?" 

Then  his  thoughts  wandered  to  the  charmer  who 
was  to  leave  town  to-morrow.  He  realized  his  fate 
in  all  its  bitterness,  and  he  felt  a  great  longing  to 
pour  forth  the  sorrow  of  his  soul  to  a  friend  who 
could  understand  him. 

But  it  was  not  easy  to  find  a  sympathetic  friend 
at  that  time  of  night. 

After  all,  Uncle  Frederick  was  his  confidant  in 
many  matters ;  he  would  look  him  up. 

As  he  knew  that  Uncle  Frederick  was  at  Aunt 
Maren's,  he  betook  himself  towards  the  Palace  in 
order  to  meet  him  on  his  way  back  from  Homan's 
Town.  He  chose  one  of  the  narrow  avenues  on 
the  right,  which  he  knew  to  be  his  uncle's  favorite 
route ;  and  a  little  way  up  the  hill  he  seated  himself 
on  a  bench  to  wait. 

It  must  be  unusually  lively  at  Aunt  Maren's  to 


THE   BATTLE   OF   WATERLOO.  203 

make  Uncle  Frederick  stop  there  until  after  ten. 
At  last  he  seemed  to  discern  a  small  white  object 
far  up  the  avenue ;  it  was  Uncle  Frederick's  white 
waistcoat  approaching, 

Hans  rose  from  the  bench  and  said  very  seriously, 
*'  Good-evening !" 

Uncle  Frederick  was  not  at  all  fond  of  meeting 
solitary  men  in  dark  avenues ;  so  it  was  a  great  re- 
lief to  him  to  recognize  his  nephew. 

"Oh,  is  it  only  you,  Hans  old  fellow?"  he  said, 
cordially.  "What  are  you  lying  in  ambush  here 
for  ?" 

"  I  was  waiting  for  you,"  answered  Hans,  in  a 
sombre  tone  of  voice. 

"  Indeed  ?  Is  there  anything  wrong  with  you  ? 
Are  you  ill  ?" 

"  Don't  ask  me,"  answered  Cousin  Hans. 

This  would  at  any  other  time  have  been  enough 
to  call  forth  a  hail- storm  of  questions  from  Uncle 
Frederick. 

But  this  evening  he  was  so  much  taken  up  with 
his  own  experiences  that  for  the  moment  he  put  his 
nephew's  affairs  aside. 

"  I  can  tell  you,  you  were  very  foolish,"  he  said, 
"  not  to  go  with  me  to  Aunt  Maren's.  We  have  had 
such  a  jolly  evening,  I'm  sure  you  would  have  en- 
joyed it.  The  fact  is,  it  was  a  sort  of  farewell 
party  in  honor  of  a  young  lady  who's  leaving  town 
to-morrow." 

A  horrible  foreboding  seized  Cousin  Hans. 


204  TALES  OF  TWO   COUNTRIES. 

"  What  was  her  name  ?"  he  shrieked,  gripping  his 
uncle  by  the  arm. 

'*  Ow !"  cried  his  uncle,  "  Miss  Beck." 
.    Then  Hans  collapsed  upon  the  bench. 

But  scarcely  had  he  sunk  down  before  he  sprang 
up  again,  with  a  loud  cry,  and  drew  out  of  his  coat- 
tail  pocket  a  knubbly  little  object,  which  he  hurled 
away  far  down  the  avenue. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  boy  ?"  cried  Uncle 
Frederick,  "  What  was  that  you  threw  away  ?" 

"Oh,  it  was  that  confounded  Bliicher,"  answered 
Cousin  Hans,  almost  in  tears. 

— Uncle  Frederick  scarcely  found  time  to  say, 
"  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  beware  of  Bliicher  ?"  when 
he  burst  into  an  alarming  fit  of  laughter,  which  last- 
ed from  the  Palace  Hill  far  along  Upper  Fort 
Street. 


THE   END. 


JUN  27 


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